.LIBRARY 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY   OF  CALIFORNIA. 

OIFTT  OK 


IOTSOBADAS¥ESEEI; 

OR, 

MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER. 
21  (Eomebg  in  JTiue  &cte, 

BY 

SIR  EDWARD  BULWER  LYTTON,  BART. 

AS  FIRST  PERFORMED  AT  DEVONSHIRE  HOUSE, 

IN  THE  PRESENCE  OF 

HER  MAJESTY  AND   HIS   ROYAL  HIGHNESS 
THEEfifflfiEALBERT. 


NEW  YORK: 
HARPER    &    BROTHERS, 

82    CLIFF    STREET. 

1851. 


HIS  GRACE  THE  DUKE  OF  DEVONSHIRE.  K.G. 


(TJNIVEESITY) 

MY  LORD  DUKE, 

THIS  Play  is  respectfully  dedicated  to  your 
Grace  in  token  of  the  earnest  gratitude,  both 
of  Author  and  Performers,  for  the  genial  and 
noble  sympathy  which  has  befriended  their 
exertions  in  the  cause  of  their  brotherhood. 

The  debt  that  we  can  but  feebly  acknowledge, 
may  those  who  come  after  us  seek  to  repay ; 
and  may  each  loftier  Cultivator  of  Art  and 
Letters,  whom  the  Institution  established  under 
your  auspices  may  shelter  from  care  and  penu- 
ry, see  on  its  corner-stone  your  princely  name, 


VI  DEDICATION. 

— and  perpetuate  to  distant  times  the  affection- 
ate homage  it  commands  from  ourselves. 

It  is  this  hope  that  can  alone  render  worthy 
the  tribute  which,  in  my  own  name  as  Author, 
and  in  the  names  of  my  companions  the  Per- 
formers, of  the  Play  first  represented  at  Devon- 
shire House,  I  now  offer  to  your  Grace,  with 
every  sentiment  that  can  deepen  and  endear 
the  respect  and  admiration 

With  which  I  have  the  honor  to  be, 

My  Lord  Duke, 
Your  Grace's  most  obedient 

and  faithful  servant, 
E.  BULWEE  LYTTOIST. 

May,  1851. 


DEAMATIS  PEESON^E. 


THE  DUKE  OF  MIDDLESEX,  )  Peers  attach-  )  MR.  FRANK  STONE. 
THE  EARL  OF  LOFTUS,        $  ed  to  the  Son  '  MR.  DUDLEY  COSTELLO. 

of  James  //.,  commonly  called  the  First 

Pretender. 
LORD  WILMOT,  a  Young  Man  at  the  Head  ) 

of  the  Mode  more  than  a  Century  ago-,  >MR.  CHARLES  DICKENS. 

Son  to  LORD  LOFTUS  .        .        .        .  ) 
MR.  SHADOWLY  SOFTHEAD,  a  Young  Gen-  ) 

tie  man  from   the    City,   Friend    and  >  MR.  DOUGLAS  JERROLD. 

Double  to  LORD  WILMOT  .        .        .  > 
MR.  HARDMAN,  a  Rising  Member  of  Par-  i 

liament,  and  Adherent  to  Sir  Robert  >  MR.  JOHN  FORSTER. 

Walpole        ......  > 

SIR  GEOFFREY  THORNSIDE,  a  Gentleman)*,     \jfir,vr.ru 

of  Good  Family  and  Estate        .        .  \  MR'  MARK  LEMON- 
MR.   GOODKNOUGH   EASY,   in   Business,  ) 

Highly  Respectable,  and  a  Friend  of\  MR.  F.  W.  TOPHAM. 

SIR  GEOFFREY    .....  > 

LORD  LE  TRIMMER,  ^      Frequenters  of     C  MR-  PETKR  CUNNINGHAM. 

SIR  THOMAS  TIMID,  (        WilCs  Coffee  <  MR.  WESTLAND  MARSTON. 
COLONEL  FLINT,        '             House.  (  MR  R  H   HORNE. 

MR.  JACOB  TONSON,  a  Bookseller     .  .    MR.  CHARLES  KNIGHT. 

SMART,  Valet  to  LORD  WILMOT       .  .    MR.  WILKIE  COLLINS. 

HODGE,    Servant    to    SIR    GEOFFREY       >M      -         TENNIFI 
THORNSIDE  ......  j  MR.  Jo       IENNIEL. 

PADDY  O'SULLIVAN,  Mr.  Fallen's  Landlord  MR.  ROBERT  BELL. 

Orub  street  AMK°r      A«°T  E 


LORD  STRONGBOW,  SIR  JOHN  BRUIN,  COFFEE-HOUSE  LOUNGERS, 
DRAWERS,  NEWSMAN,  WATCHMEN,  &c.,  &a 


LDCTlio«S^T  to.S'R.GK™    .JM.S.COMPTON. 
BARBARA,  Daughter  to  MR.  EASY    .        .    Miss  ELLEN  CHAPLIN. 
THE  SILENT  LADY  OF  DEADMAN'S  LANE. 


Date  of  Play.— THE  REIGN  OF  GEORGE  I. 

Scene. — LONDON. 

Time  supposed  to  be  occupied^  From  the  noon  of  the  first  day  to  the  after' 
noon  of  the  second. 


NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM; 

OE, 

MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER. 


ACT  I. 

SCENE  I. 

LORD  WILMOT'S  Apartment  in  St.  James's. — A 
Breakfast-table  laid  out. 

SMART  (as  he  arranges  the  breakfast-table). 
JUST  on  the  stroke  of  twelve,  and  my  Lord  not 
risen.  He  never  wants  sleep  more  than  once  a  week, 
— but  when  he  does  sleep,  he  sleeps  as  he  does  every 
thing  else — better  than  any  man  in  the  three  king- 
doms. Well,  he  is  a  merry  fine  gentleman,  to  be 
sure ;  so  kind-hearted  and  generous ;  but,  lauk,  if  one 
judged  by  his  words,  and  not  by  his  actions,  one 
would  say  he  was  the  wickedest  dog  that Mum ! 

Enter  LORD  WILMOT,  in  his  dressing-gown,  from 
side-door. 

WILMOT  (stretching  himself). 
"And   sleepless   lovers    just   at   twelve — awake!" 
That  little  fellow  Pope  hits  us  off  to  a  hair.     Smart, 
my  chocolate.     Any  duels  to-day  ?     I  forget 


10  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  i. 

SMART  (looking  at  his  tablets). 
No,  my  Lord,  no  duels.     Only  three   drums,  four 
routs,  five  dinners,  and  six  suppers. 

WILMOT. 

Is  that  all  ?  Dull  day  before  me.  Not  worth  get- 
ting up  for.  Smart,  you  have  now  lived  with  me  six 
months  ;  pray,  what  do  you  think  of  me  2 


Oh,  my  Lord,  I  think  there's  not  another  gentle- 
man in  the  world  like  your  Lordship 

WILMOT  (interrupting). 

Take  care !  I  discharged  your  predecessor  for  flat- 
tery !  Go  on,  and  let  me  see  how  you  get  out  of  that 
dangerous  exordium. 

SMART. 

Yes,  my  Lord !  not  a  gentleman  like  you  for  speak- 
ing ill  of  yourself  and  doing  good  to  another. 

WILMOT. 

This  knave  has  been  bribed  by  my  enemies  to  ruin 
my  character.  Doing  good  to  another,  you  scandal- 
ous libeler !  Am  I  not  renowned  from  Soho  to  the 
Mall  as  a  headlong — immovable — reckless — phlegm  ati- 
cal — true  King  of  the  Mode — frigid  as  Diogenes  the 
Cynic — and  fiery  as  Timour  the  Tartar  ?  Learn  how 
the  wits  of  our  day  represent,  on  the  stage,  a  fine 
gentleman ;  and  beware  how  you  disparage  your 
master.  [Seats  himself. 

SMART  (aside). 

What  hard  words  he  does  give  himself !  If  hard 
words  could  break  bones,  I  would  not  be  in  his  skin 
for  something. 


80.  I.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         11 

WILMOT. 

What  is  this  note  ?  The  hand  is  unknown.  Pshaw ! 
the  hand  of  a  woman  !  It  must  wait  with  the  rest. 
Ladies'  letters  don't  cool  —  man's  chocolate  does. 
(Eating.)  The  Frenchman  implies  that  a  good  diges- 
tion is  the  sign  of  a  bad  heart.  What  a  heart  I  must 
have  !  Could  digest  an  anvil ! 

SMART. 

I  beg  pardon,  my  Lord ;  but  that  note  was  left  by 
the  lady  herself. 

WILMOT  (indifferently). 

Oh !  young  and  pretty,  of  course !  Heart  not 
moved  in  the  least !  Petrified  ! 

SMART. 

She  wore  the  mask  ladies  sometimes  wear,  when 
they  go  out  alone  ;  but  I  don't  think  she  was  very 
young.  She  seemed  in  very  great  distress  of  mind, 
for  when  she  gave  me  the  letter,  her  hand  trembled 
so,  that 

WILMOT. 

Distress,  you  blockhead ;  why  the  duse  did  not  you 
say  that  before  ? 

(Reads.)  "  I  pray  you,  my  Lord,  to  forgive  this 
intrusion — noticed  your  calling  at  the  house  of  Sir 
Geoffrey  Thornside — [Ha!] — seen  you  walking  in  the 
garden  with  Mistress  Lucy,  his  daughter — [Hum  !] — 
heard  you  had  rescued  that  young  lady  from  danger — 
[What  gossip !] — many  stories  have  reached  me  at- 
testing the  honor  of  your  character  and  the  kindness 
of  your  heart — [Stuff;  where's  my  purse  ?] — venture 
with  reluctance  to  entreat  you  would  honor  me  with  a 
visit ;  you  could  render  an  inestimable  service — per- 
form  a  most  benevolent  action — [Wonder  if  there's 


12  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  i. 

eno'  in  the  purse !]— -for  reasons  I  can  not  explain, 
would  not  wish  your  Lordship  to  be  seen  entering  my 
house  ;  therefore,  if  you  grant  my  request, — any  hour 
in  the  evening,  after  dusk — beg  your  Lordship  not  to 
mention  the  contents  of  this  letter — to  Sir  Geoffrey — 
his  daughter — to  any  one  ;  strictly  confidential — -for 
same  reasons,  can  not  give  you  my  name — must  be  con- 
tent with  subjoining  my  address, —  Crown  and  Port- 
cullis* Deadmarts  Lane " 

Deadman's  Lane !  It  must  be  a  church-yard,  and 
the  writer  a  ghost!  Smart,  are  you  too  lively  to 
know  a  place  on  this  earth  or  below  it — called  Dead- 
man's  Lane  ? 

SMART. 

Yes,  my  Lord ;  it  is  at  the  back  of  Sir  Geoffrey 
Thornside's.  (Knock.)  Is  your  Lordship  at  home  ? 

WILMOT. 

Yes ; — see  who  it  is.  (Exit  SMART.)  Very  strange 
letter ! — in  meaning  mysterious — in  direction  funereal. 
I  will  call ;  were  it  only  for  the  sweet  name  of  Lucy 
that  I  kiss  here  in  effigy  !  Oh,  that  divine,  innocent, 
charming  Lucy ! 

Enter  SMART. 

SMART. 
Mr.  Shadowly  Softhead. 

WILMOT. 

'  Softhead,  my  imitator,  my  double — who  cuts  his 
cloth  (his  father's  a  clothier)  according  to  the  coat  of 
a  Lord ;  and  sets  his  puny  constitution  against  my 
frame  of  a  Hercules.  The  best  little  man  in  the 

*  Numbers  were  not  then  assigned  to  houses,  and  some, 
not  known  by  the  names  of  their  proprietors,  retained  their 
ancient  signs. 


sc.  i.]        OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        13 

world  ! — ambitious  to  be  thought  good  for  nothing ; 
— upset  by  a  wine-glass,  and  frightened  out  of  his 

wits  by  a  petticoat! (Enter  SOFTHEAD.)     Ha, 

Softhead  !  my  Py lades — my  second  self!   Animce 

SOFTHEAD. 

Enemy  ! 

WILMOT. 

Dimidium  mece. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Dimi!  that's  the  oath  last  in  fashion,  I  warrant. 
( With  a  swagger  and  a  slap  on  the  back.)  Dimidum 
mece,  how  d'ye  do  1 

WILMOT. 

But  what  a  fellow  you  are !  Slunk  off  last  night 
at  the  third  bottle.  I  thought  you  were  a  stanch 
Bacchanalian. 

SOFTHEAD. 

So  I  am  !  stanch  to  the  bone.  But  I  say,  don't 
you  sometimes  feel  rather  qualmy  the  next  morning  ? 
— queerish  and  headachy — a  sort  of  uppish,  downish, 
all-overish  Bacchanalian  sensation ! 

WILMOT. 

I  ? — never  !  0,  if  you  are  capable  of  such  vulgar  in- 
firmities after  a  miserable  third  bottle  or  so,  never 
think  of  living  with  us :  we  Lords  of  Misrule  are  all 
made  of  iron,  like  the  man  in  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen. 

SOFTHEAD. 

And  so  am  I — iron  !  Nothing  ever  ails  me !  I 
only  ask  from  curiosity — I  could  have  sate  you  all  out ! 

but 

WILMOT. 

Ah,  I  take  it,  an  assignation !  Softhead,  you  know 
you're  a  monster. 


14  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  i. 

SOFTHEAD. 

A  monster !     Are  you  a  monster  ? 

WILMOT. 
Ay,  horrible. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Dimidum  mece,  and  so  am  I ! 

WILMOT. 

As  we  grow  seasoned,  'tis  astonishing  how  much 
we  require.  Wine  has  now  no  effect  upon  me  !  I  think 
of  taking  to  aqua-fortis.  We'll  have  a  bout  of  it  some 
day.  Aqua-fortis !  Vigorous  fellows,  like  Sir  John 
Bruin,  Colonel  Flint,  Lord  Strongbow,  me,  and — your- 
self, could  carry  off  a  gallon  apiece  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Charming ! — Excellent ! — Aqua-fortis,  I'm  a  dead 
man! 

WILMOT. 

As  for  women,  they  are  duller  than  wine.  A  mere 
harmless  gallantry  has  no  longer  a  charm  for  me. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Nor  for  me  either ! — (Aside.)     Never  had. 

WILMOT. 

Nothing  should  excite  us  true  men  of  pleasure  but 
some  colossal  atrocity,  to  bring  our  necks  within  an 
inch  of  the  gallows  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

He's  a  perfect  demon !  Alas,  I  shall  never  come 
up  to  his  mark  ! 

Enter  SMART. 

SMART. 

Mr.  Hardman,  my  Lord. 


so.  L]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        15 
WILMOT. 

Hush !  Must  not  shock  Mr.  Hardman,  the  most 
friendly  obliging  man,  and  so  clever — will  be  a  minister 
some  day.  But  not  one  of  our  set. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Oh,  I've  often  heard  of  Mr.  Hardman.  We  visit  at 
the  same  house  ;  the  rising  member  of  parliament  ? 

WILMOT. 

Rising,  yes !  Pray,  what  did  he  rise  from  ?  Do 
you  know  his  origin  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

No. 

WILMOT. 

He's  like  the  Sibyl  of  Cuma.  Knows  all  about 
every  one ;  and  nobody  knows  aught  about  him. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Is  that  like  a  Sibyl  of  Cuma  ?  La !  there  are  plenty 
such  Sibyls  in  London ! 

Enter  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

And  how  fares  my  dear  Lord  ? 

WILMOT. 

Bravely — and  you  ?  Ah !  you  men  who  live  for 
others  have  a  hard  life  of  it.  Let  me  present  to  you 
my  friend,  Mr.  Shadowly  Softhead. 

HARDMAN. 

The  son  of  the  great  clothier  who  has  such  weight 
in  the  Guild  ?  I  have  heard  of  you  from  Mr.  Easy 


16  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  i. 

and  others,  though  never  so  fortunate  as  to  meet  you 
before,  Mr.  Softhead. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Shadowly  Softhead : — my  grandmother  was  one  of 
the  Shadowlys — a  genteel  family  that  move  about 
Court.  She  married  a  Softhead, — 

WILMOT. 
A  race  much  esteemed  in  the  city. 

HARDMAN. 

Esteemed  in  the  city !  The  Softheads  ?  No  race 
has  more  votes  for  it !  Your  father's  the  head  of  that 
House ;  a  most  valuable  man  !  Ah,  my  Lord !  these 
are  critical  times :  we  can't  disguise  from  ourselves  that 
the  Jacobites  are  daring  and  numerous.  Our  great 
Prime  Minister  needs  all  the  support  he  can  get. 
You've  no  notion,  Lord  Wilmot,  how  Sir  Robert  Wai- 
pole  esteems  you. 

WILMOT. 

Indeed  I  have :  just  like  myself!  One  always 
esteems  a  thing — before  one  has  bought  it. 

HARDMAN. 

A  sorry  joke,  Mr.  Softhead — IVe  known  him  more 
witty.  A  new  picture,  my  Lord  ?  I'm  no  very  great 
judge — but  it  seems  to  me  quite  a  master-piece. 

WILMOT. 

IVe  a  passion  for  art.  Sold  off  my  stud  to  buy 
that  picture.  (Aside.  And  please  my  poor  father.) 
'Tis  a  Murillo. 

HARDMAN. 

A  Murillo!  you  know  that  Walpole,  too,  has  a 
passion  for  pictures. — In  despair  at  this  moment  that 


sc.  ij       OK,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         17 

he  can't  find  a  Murillo  to  hang  up  in  his  gallery.  If 
ever  you  want  to  corrupt  the  Prime  Minister's  virtue, 
you  have  only  to  say,  "  I  have  got  a  Murillo." 

WILMOT. 

Well,  if,  instead  of  the  pictures,  he'll  just  hang  up 
the  men  he  has  bought,  you  may  tell  him  he  shall 
have  my  Murillo  for  nothing ! 

HARDMAN. 

Bought !  now  really,  my  Lord,  this  is  so  vulgar  a 
scandal  against  Sir  Robert.  Let  me  assure  your  Lord- 
ship  

WILMOT  (earnestly). 

Nay,  it  needs  not,  dear  Hard  man ;  the  best  proof 
of  a  Minister's  merits  is  in  the  zeal  and  attachment  of 
men  like  yourself. 

HARDMAN  (affected). 
I  thank  you,  my  Lord. 

WILMOT. 

But  prithee,  dear  Hardman,  where  left  you  your 
cloak? 

HA  RDM  AN. 

Cloak  ?     Outside  the  door. 

WILMOT. 

Then,  outside  with  the  cloak,  leave  my  Lord  and 
your  Lordship.  Plague  on  these  titles  among  friends. 
My  Lord  with  the  world  ;  Wilmot  with  my  comrades ; 
Frederick  at  my  father's  home ;  and  plain  Fred  in  my 
bachelor's  lodgings. 

SOFTHEAD. 

And  1  live  to  call  a  man  Fred,  who's  called  my 


18  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  i. 

Lord  by  the  world !     Oh,  sir,  you  don't  know  my 
friend  Fred  as  we  do.     Does  he,  Fred? 

[Hanging  on  WILMOT. 

WILMOT  (looking  down  on  him). 
Hum.  I'm  not  sure  that  two  diminutives  go  well 
together.  But  as  for  titles  and  all  such  tedious  cere- 
monials, they  die  in  the  air  that  hallows  these  rooms 
to  the  freedom  of  youth,  and  the  equality  of  friend- 
ship. And  if  the  Duke  of  Middlesex  himself — com- 
monly styled  "the  Proud  Duke" — -who  said  to  "his 
Duchess,  when  she  astonished  his  dignity  one  day 
with  a  kiss,  "  Madam,  my  first  wife  was  a  Percy,  and 
she  never  took  such  a  liberty  ; — "* 

HARDMAN. 

Ha  !  ha  I  well,  if  "  the  Proud  Duke"— 

WILMOT. 

Could  deign  to  come  here,  we  would  say,  "  How 
d'ye  do,  my  dear  Middlesex !" 

SOFTHEAD. 

So  we  would,  Fred !  Middlesex. — Shouldn't  you 
like  to  know  a  Duke,  Mr.  Hardman  ? 

*  This  well-known  anecdote  of  the  Proud  Duke  of  Som- 
erset, and  some  other  recorded  traits  of  the  same  eminent 
personage,  have  been  freely  applied  to  the  character,  in- 
tended to  illustrate  the  humor  of  pride,  in  the  comedy. 
None  of  our  English  memoirs  afford,  however,  instances  of 
that  infirmity  so  extravagant  as  are  to  be  found  in  the  French. 
Tallamant  has  an  anecdote  of  the  celebrated  Duchesse  de 
Longueville,  which  enlivens  the  burlesque  by  a  bull  that  no 
Irish  imagination  ever  surpassed.  A  surgeon  having  prob- 
ably saved  her  life  by  bleeding  her  too  suddenly  and  without 
sufficient  ceremonial, — the  Duchesse  said,  on  recovering  her- 
self, that  "  he  was  an  insolent  fellow  to  have  bled  her — in  her 
presence" 


so.  L]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        19 


HARDMAN. 

I  have  known  one  or  two — in  opposition  ;  and  had 
rather  too  much  of  'em. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Too  much  of  a  Duke !  La !  I  could  never  have 
eno'  of  a  Duke  ! 

HARDMAN. 

You  may  live  to  think  otherwise.  But,  my  dear 
Wilmot,  you  will  soon  have  occasion  for  that  well-bred 
familiarity  with  which  you  threaten  his  Grace  ;  for,  as 
I  left  Lockett's,  I  saw  the  Duke  stepping  into  his  car- 
riage and  heard  his  lackeys  order  the  coachman  to 
drive  to  your  lodgings, — stopping  first  at  Bygrave's 
the  gunsmith — (aside)  who  is  suspected  of  selling 
arms  to  the  malcontents. 

WILMOT. 
Ha !     The  proud  Duke  ! 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

And  that's  one  reason  why  I  came  hither.     I  would 

know  what  mischief  that  Jacobite  Duke  is  devising 

[Knock  at  the  door. 
WILMOT. 

No,  it  will  never  do !  Smart,  I  say — not  at  home  ! 
(Running  to  the  door)  Confound  it ! — too  late — the 
Duke's  in  the  hall ! 

HARDMAN. 

But  you'll  not  be  so  absurd  as  to  do  what  you 
boasted ! 

WILMOT. 

Not !  If  a  man  with  notions  of  honor  not  larger 
than  would  cover  the  point  of  a  pin  were  to  boast  that 
he  would  put  the  Monument  into  his  pocket — why  he 


20  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  i. 

must  pocket  the  Monument,  or  throw  himself  from  the 
top  of  it. 

SMART. 

His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Middlesex. 

Enter  DUKE. 

DUKE. 
My  Lord  Wilmot,  your  most  obedient  servant. 

WILMOT. 

Now  then,  courage !     How  d'ye  do,  my  dear  Mid- 
dlesex ? 

DUKE. 

"  How  d'ye  do  ?"  "  Middlesex  !"  Gracious  heaven  ! 
what  will  this  age  come  to  ? 

HARDMAN  to  SOFTHEAD. 

Well,  it  may  be  the  fashion, — yet  I  could  hardly 
advise  you  to  adopt  it. 

SOFTHEAD. 

But  if  Fred 

HARDMAN. 

Oh  !  certainly  Fred  is  an  excellent  model — 

SOFTHEAD. 

Yet,  there's  something  very  awful  in  a  live  Duke  ! 

HARDMAN. 

Tut !  a  mere  mortal  like  ourselves,  after  all. 

SOFTHEAD. 

D'ye  really  think  so  ? — upon  your  honor  ? 


so.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         21 

HARDMAN. 

Sir,  I  am  sure  of  it, — upon  my  honor,  a  mortal ! 

DUKE  (turning  stiffly  round,  and  half  rising  from 

his  chair  in  majestic  condescension. 
Your  Lordship's  friends  ?  A  good-day  to  you,  gen- 
tlemen ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

And  a  good-day  to  yourself.     My  Lord  Du I 

mean,  my  dear  boy  ! — Middlesex,  how  d'ye  do  1 

DUKE. 

Mid  ! — Boy  ! — sex  ! — dear  ! — my  head  is  confused. 
I  must  be  in  a  dream, — certainly  a  hideous  dream. 
And  that  small  man  is  the  nightmare  !  He  is  coming 
this  way ! — Powers  above  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

He  looks  rather  puzzled.  Taking  snuff?  Fred 
making  signs — ah,  to  put  him  up  to  it.  I'll  do  so  in 
Fred's  own  easy,  elegant  way  ! — You  see,  as  Fred 
says,  ceremonials  and  titles  die  in  the  youth  of  equality 
and  the  friendship  of  freedom ! — No,  that  comes  after- 
wards ! — Prithee,  dear  Middlesex,  where  did  you  leave 
your  cloak  ? 

DUKE. 

Middlesex  again! — coupled,  too,  with  such  incon- 
gruous expressions ;  equality  ! — freedom  ! — My  Lord 
Wilmot,  permit  me  to  request  of  your  Lordship  to 
order  your  people  to  convey  to  a  distance,  remote 
from  my  person, — that  small  man. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Small  man ! 

HARDMAN  (aside). 
.  I  enjoy  this. 


22  XOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  IACT  j. 

WILMOT  tO  HARDMAN. 

Make  him  apologize  to  the  Duke, — then  hurry  him 
off  into  the  next  room.  Allow  me  to  explain  to  your 
Grace. 

SOFTHEAD    to    HARDMAN. 

But  Fred  himself 

HARDMAN. 

Fred  himself  is  apologizing.  Mark  how  he  bows 
and  cringes,-— bow  and  cringe,  too. 

SOFTHEAD. 

But  what  shall  I  say  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Any  thing  most  civil  and  servile. 

SOFTHEAD. 

I — I — my  Lord  Duke,  I  really  most  humbly  en- 
treat your  Grace's  pardon,  I 

DUKE. 

Small  man,  your  pardon  is  granted,  for  your  exist- 
ence is  effaced.  So  far  as  my  recognition  is  necessary 
to  your  sense  of  being,  consider  yourself  henceforth — 
annihilated ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  humbly  thank  your  Grace  !  Annihilated  ?  what's 
that? 

HARDMAN. 

Duke's  English  for  excused.  (SOFTHEAD  wants  to 
get  lack  to  the  DUKE.)  What !  have  not  you  had 
enough  of  the  Duke  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

No,  now  we've  made  it  up.     I  never  bear  malice. 


sc.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         23 

I  should  like  to  know  more  of  him ;  one  can't  get  at 
a  Duke  every  day.  If  he  did  call  me  "  small  man," 
he  is  a  Duke, — and  such  a  remarkably  fine  one  ! 

HARDMAN  (drawing  him  away). 

You  deserve  to  be  haunted  by  him !  No — no ! 
Come  into  the  next  room  and  talk  of  your  father.  He 
carries  a  great  many  votes,  and  Sir  Robert  shall  deal 
with  him  for  cloth  and  for  any  other  commodity  he 
may  desire  to  vend  to  the  Premier.  [Exeunt  through 
side-door.  SOFTHEAD  very  reluctant  to  leave  the  DUKE. 

DUKE. 

There's  something  portentous  in  that  small  man's 
audacity. — Quite  an  aberration  of  Nature !  Such 
things  do  happen  in  critical  eras  of  the  world,  like  the 
present.^Fie,  my  Lord,  how  can  you  associate  with 
such  a — very — small  man  !  But  we  are  alone  now, 
we  two  gentlemen.  Your  father  is  my  friend,  and  his 
son  must  have  courage  and  honor. 

WILMOT. 

Faith,  I  had  the  courage  to  say  I  would  call  your 
Grace  "  Middlesex,"  and  the  honor  to  keep  my  word. 
So  I've  given  good  proof  that  I've  courage  and  honor 
enough  for  any  thing ! 

DUKE  (a fee tiona  tely) . 

You're  a  wild  boy.  You  have  levities  and  follies. 
But  alas  !  even  rank  does  not  exempt  its  possessor 
from  the  faults  of  humanity.  Very  strange !  My 
own  dead  brother — (with  a  look  of  disgust). 

WILMOT. 

Your  brother,  Lord  Henry  de  Mowbray  ?  My  dear 
Duke,  pray  forgive  me ;  but  I  hope  there's  no  truth 
in  what  Tonson,  the  bookseller,  told  me  at  Will's — 


24  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  i. 

that  your  brother  had  left  behind,  certain  Confessions 
or  Memoirs,  which  are  all  that  might  be  apprehended 
from  a  man  of  a  temper  so  cynical,  and  whose  success 
in  the  gay  world  was  so — terrible.  (Aside.  Deter- 
mined seducer  and  implacable  cut-throat !) 

DUKE. 

Ha !  then  those  Memoirs  exist !  My  brother  kept 
his  profligate  threat.  I  shall  be  ridiculed,  lampooned. 
I,  the  head  of  the  Mowbrays !  Powers  above,  is  no- 
thing on  earth,  then,  left  sacred !  My  Lord,  I  thank 
you  sincerely.  Can  }7ou  learn  in  whose  hands  is 
this  scandalous  record  ? 

WILMOT. 

I  will  try.  And  I  hope  some  honest  man  has  got 
hold  of  it, — for  Tonson  told  me  he  could  not  yet  in- 
duce him  to  sell  it.  You  would  wish  it  suppressed  ? 

DUKE. 
Suppressed  !     In  the  bottomless  pit ! 

WILMOT. 
And  would  buy  it  yourself  ? 

DUKE. 

Myself!  No.  I  would  mortgage  the  Castle  of 
Mowbray  to  save  my  name  from  the  jests  of  a  ribald, 
— that  ribald,  my  kinsman  !  But  to  buy,  myself,  what 

was  meant  to  expose  me ,  men   would  say  the 

Duke  of  Middlesex  feared 

WILMOT. 

Leave  it  to  me.  I  know  Lord  Henry  bore  you  a 
grudge  for  renouncing  his  connection,  on  account  of  his 
faults — of  humanity  !  His  wit  might  not  spare  you  ; 


so.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         25 

nor  even  what  is  more  sacred, — the  sex  on  which  his 
life  was  one  war.  I  remember  an  anecdote  how  he 
fought  with  a  husband,  some  poor  devil  named  Mor- 
land,  for  a  boast  in  a  tavern,  which — Oh,  but  we'll  not 
speak  of  that.  We  must  get  the  Memoir.  We 
gentlemen  have  all  common  cause  here.  Woman's 
name  and  man's  hearth. 

DUKE  (taking  his  hand). 

Worthy  son  of  your  father.  You  deserve,  indeed, 
the  trust  that  I  come  to  confide  to  you.  Drop  this 
shameful  digression.  I  have  need  of  all  my  composure 
— you,  of  all  your  attention. 

WILMOT. 
What's  coming,  I  wonder. 

DUKE  (taking  snuff). 

There  is  a  Hanoverian  gentleman  of  very  good 
family,  in  his  own  country,  but  a  perfect  stranger  to 
me — George  Guelph.  Certain  persons  who  call  them- 
selves the  People — but  who,  strange  to  say,  did  not  do 
me  the  honor  to  ask  my  opinion — have  placed  this 
gentleman  on  the  throne  of  our  lawful  sovereign, 
James  the  Third. 

TVILMOT. 

Hush,  Duke,  hush !  This  confidence  is  really  so 
dangerous ! 

DUKE. 

Dangerous,  what  one  man  of  honor  confides  to  an- 
other !  Your  interruption  is  unseemly.  To  proceed  : 
his  Majesty,  King  James,  having  been  deceived  by 
vague  promises  in  the  Expedition  of  'Fifteen,  has  very 
properly  refused  to  imperil  his  rights  again,  unless 
upon  the  positive  pledge  of  a  sufficient  number  of  per- 
sons of  influence,  to  risk  life  and  all  in  his  service. 


26  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  i. 

Myself  and  some  others,  not  wholly  unknown  to  you, 
propose  to  join  in  a  pledge  which  our  King  with  such 
reason  exacts.  Your  assistance,  my  Lord,  would  be 
valuable,  for  you  are  the  idol  of  the  young.  Doubts 
were  entertained  of  your  loyalty.  I  have  come  to  dispel 
them — a  word  will  suffice.  If  we  succeed,  you  restore 
the  son  of  a  Stuart;  if  we  fail,  you  will  go  to  the 
scaffold  by  the  side  of  John  Duke  of  Middlesex !  Can 
you  hesitate ;  or,  is  silence  assent  ? 

WILMOT. 

Assent  to  surrender  my  country  to  the  sword  and 
the  flames  of  civil  war — for  a  cause  that  is  hopeless  ! 


Hopeless !  But  I  can  not  stoop  to  argue — 'tis  eno' 
for  a  man  like  me  to  invite.  Does  your  Lordship  re- 
fuse my  invitation  ? 

WILMOT. 

My  dear  Duke,  forgive  me  that  I  dismiss  with  a 
jest  a  subject  so  fatal,  if  gravely  entertained.  I  have 
so  many  other  engagements  at  present  that,  just  to  rec- 
ollect them,  I  must  keep  my  head  on  my  shoulders. 
Accept  my  humblest  excuses. 

DUKE. 

Accept  mine  for  mistaking  the  son  of  Lord  Loftus. 
I  have  the  honor  to  wish  your  Lordship  good-day. 

WILMOT. 

Lord  Loftus  again  !  Stay.  Your  Grace  spoke  of 
persons  not  wholly  unknown  to  me.  I  entreat  you  to 
explain. 

DUKE. 

My  Lord,  I  have  trusted  you  with  my  own  life ;  but 
to  compromise  by  a  word  the  life  of  another,  permit 


BC.  I.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         27 

me  once  more  to  repeat  to  your  Lordship  that  I  am 
John  Duke  of  Middlesex.  [Exit. 

WILMOT. 

Go  thy  ways  for  the  most  prejudiced  piece  of  ab- 
surdity and  bombast,  valor  and  honor,  that  ever  shook 
a  plot  from  the  curls  of  a  periwig,  or  drew  a  court 
sword  against  the  march  of  a  nation.  But  can  he 
allude  to  my  father  ?  Nay,  scarcely ;  my  father  would 
surely  have  hinted  to  me  if — still,  Fm  uneasy.  How 
shall  I  find  out  ? — Ha !  Hardman.  Hardman,  I  say  ! 
Here's  a  man  who  finds  every  thing  out. 

Enter  HARDMAN  and  SOFTHEAD. 
Softhead,  continue  annihilated  for  the  next  five  minutes 
or  so.  These  books  will  help  to  the  cessation  of  your 
existence  mental  and  bodily.  Mr.  Locke,  on  the 
Understanding,  will  show  that  you  have  not  an 
innate  idea;  and  the  Essay  of  Bishop  Berkely  will 
prove  you  have  not  an  atom  of  matter. 

SOFTHEAD. 

But 

WILMOT. 

No  buts  ! — they're  the  fashion. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Oh,  if  they're  the  fashion 

[Seats  himself  at  the  further  end  of  the  room  ;  com- 
mences vigorously  with  Berkely  and  Locke,  first 
one  and  then  the  other,  and  after  convincing  him- 
self that  they  are  above  his  comprehension,  grad- 
ually subsides  from  despair  into  dozing. 

WILMOT   to  HARDMAN. 

My  dear  Hardman,  you  are  the  only  one  of  my 


28  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  i. 

friends,  whom,  in  spite  of  your  politics,  my  high  Tory 
father  condescends  to  approve  of. 

HARDMAN  (smiling). 
Why,  there  are  many  sides  to  a  character ; 

WILMOT. 
A  favorite  saying  of  mine,  too  : 

HARDMAN. 

And  if  I  have  a  talent  it  is  that  of  finding  the  right 
one. 

WILMOT. 

Ah !  talk  to  my  poor  father  of  me  ;  and  you  are  on 
his  blind  side  in  a  moment. 

HARDMAN. 

In  truth,  he  has  shown  that  I  have  his  esteem. 
First,  by  asking  me  to  lecture  his  son ;  Secondly,  by 
forgiving  the  ill-success  of  the  lectures. 


Why,  look  you,  this  life  !  it  is  such  a  sunny,  glorious 
thing !  It  does  so  leap  and  sparkle  in  my  veins  that 
I  can  not  walk  the  thoroughfares  of  quiet  men  with 
their  sober  footstep.  Yet,  dear  as  existence,  thus  joy- 
ous, is,  I  would  fling  it  from  me  as  lightly  as  1  toss 
this  glove,  to  save  that  sober,  preaching  father  of 
mine  from  a  single  peril ! 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

I  could  almost  love  this  man,  if  he  would  let  me. 
Why  do  you  so  often  belie  yourself,  by  seeming  worse 
than  you  are  ? 

WILMOT. 

Why,  don't  you  think  that  rogues  who  pretend  to 


sc.  ij       OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         29 

be  honest,  have  had  their  day  long  eno'  ?  and  if  we 
honest  folks  set  up  a  counter-hypocrisy,  and  pretend 
to  be  rogues,  'gad,  we  may  drive  the  other  fellows  out 
of  the  fashion  !  But  to  come  back  to  my  father, — 
every  one  knows  that  his  family  were  stout  cavaliers, 
attached  to  the  Stuarts. 

HARDMAN. 

(Aside.  Ah !  I  guess  why  the  Jacobite  Duke  has 
been  here.  I  must  look  up  David  Fallen ;  he  is  in 
all  the  schemes  for  the  Stuarts.)  Well — and — 


And,  as  you  said  very  justly,  the  Jacobites  are 
daring  and  numerous  ;  and, — in  short,  I  should  just 
like  to  know  that  my  father  views  things  with  the  eyes 
of  our  more  wise  generation. 

HARDMAN. 

Why  not  ask  him  yourself? 

WILMOT. 

Alas !  I'm  in  disgrace ;  he  even  begs  me  not  to 
come  to  his  house.  You  see  he  wants  me  to  marry. 
Just  like  fathers !  Ever  since  Agamemnon  set  them 
the  bad  example  of  sacrificing  Iphigenia  for  a  favor- 
able breeze,  they  never  think  they've  a  chance  of 
smooth  sailing  till  they've  bound  us  tight  to  the  horns 
of  the  altar ! 

HARDMAN. 

But  your  father  bade  me  tell  you,  he  would  leave 
your  choice  to  yourself ; — would  marriage  then  seem 
so  dreadful  a  sacrifice  ? 


WILMOT. 
Sacrifice!     Leave  my  choice  to  myself?     My  dear 


30  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  i. 

Father!      (Rings   the   hand-bell.)     Smart!      (Enter 
SMART.)     Order  my  coach. 

HARDMAN. 

This  impatience  looks  very  like  love. 

WILMOT. 

Pooh !  what  do  you  know  about  love  ? — you,  who 
love  only  ambition  !  Solemn  old  jilt,  with  whom  one's 
never  safe  from  a  rival. 

HARDMAN. 

Yes ; — always  safe  from  a  rival  both  in  love  and 
ambition,  if  one  will  watch  to  detect,  and  then  scheme 
to  destroy  him. 

WILMOT. 

Destroy — ruthless  exterminator !  May  we  never 
be  rivals !  Pray  keep  to  ambition. 

[Retires  to  complete  his  dress. 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

But  ambition  lures  me  to  love.  This  fair  Lucy 
Thornside,  as  rich  as  she's  fair !  Woe  indeed  to  the 
man  who  shall  be  my  rival  with  her.  I  will  call  there 
to-day. 

WILMOT. 
Then,  you'll  see  rny  father,  and  sound  him  ? 

HARDMAN. 

I  will  do  so. 

WILMOT. 

You  are  the  best  friend  I  have.  If  ever  I  can 
serve  you  in  return 

HARDMAN. 

Tut ;  in  serving  my  friends,  'tis  myself  that  I  serve. 

[Exit. 


so.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        31 

WILMOT  (after  a  moment'1  s  thought). 
Pooh  !  there  can  be  no  danger.  IVe  been  hearing 
of  plots  ever  since  I  was  born,  but  nothing  ever  comes 
of  them ;  and  if  I  learn  from  Hardman  that  my 
father  meditates  the  innocent  amusement  of  blowing 
up  the  country— I'll  turn  steady  myself  and  shame 
him  out  of  such  pranks !  Now  to  Lucy.  Ha  !  Soft- 
head. 

SOFTHEAD  (waking  Up). 

Heh! 

WILMOT  (aside). 

I  must  put  this  suspicious  Sir  Geoffrey  on  a  wrong 
scent.  If  Softhead  were  to  make  love  to  the  girl — 
violently — desperately. 

SOFTHEAD  (yawning). 

I  would  give  the  world  to  be  tucked  up  in  bed 
now  ! 

WILMOT. 
By  Pluto  and  Hecate — the  man's  actually  yawning ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Is  there  any  harm  in  that  ? 

WILMOT. 

IVe  a  project — an  intrigue — be  all  life  and  all  fire ! 
Why,  you  tremble 

SOFTHEAD. 

With  excitement.     Proceed ! 

WILMOT. 

There's  a  certain  snarling  suspicious  Sir  Geoffrey 
Thornside,  with  a  beautiful  daughter,  to  whom  he  is 
a  sort  of  a  one-sided  bear  of  a  father — all  growl  and 
no  hug. 


32  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  i. 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  know  him  ! 

WILMOT. 

You.    How? 

SOFTHEAD. 

Why,  his  most  intimate  friend  is  Mr.  Goodenougli 
Easy. 

WILMOT. 

Lucy  presented  me  to  a  Mistress  Barbara  Easy. 
Pretty  girl ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

You  are  not  courting  her  ? 

WILMOT. 
Not  at  present.     Are  you  1 

SOFTHEAD. 

Why,  my  father  wants  me  to  marry  her. 

WILMOT. 

They  are  all  alike  these  fathers !  That  vile  Aga- 
memnon !  You  refused  ? 

SOFTHEAD 

No.     I  did  not. 

WILMOT. 

Had  she  that  impertinence  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

No  ;  but  her  father  had.  He  wished  for  it  once  ; 
but  since  I've  become  a  man  d-la-mode,  and  made  a 
sensation  at  St.  James's,  he  says  that  his  daughter 
shall  be  courted  no  more  by  such  a  fine  gentleman. 
Oh!  he's  low,  Mr.  Easy;  very  good-humored  and 
hearty,  but  respectable,  sober,  and  square-toed  ; — de- 
cidedly low  ! — City  bred  1  So  I  can't  go  much  to  his 
house  ;  but  I  see  Barbara  sometimes  at  Sir  Geoffrey's, 


so.  i.]       OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         38 
WILMOT. 

Excellent !  Listen  :  I  am  bent  upon  adding  Lucy 
Thornside  to  the  list  of  my  conquests. 

SOFTHEAD. 

But 

WILMOT. 

But  how  did  I  know  her  ?  I'll  tell  you.  Between 
Hyde  Park  and  Mayfair,  there  lie  certain  savage  re- 
cesses, which  in  some  distant  age  may  be  brought  into 
fashion,  but  which  now  are  frequented  occasionally 
by  snipes  and  habitually  by  footpads.  About  a  week 
since,  I  chanced  to  be  passing  those  desolate  wilds 
when  I  heard  female  cries, — ran  to  the  spot, — found 
two  ruffians  had  stopped  a  sedan  and  dragged  forth  a 
young  lady.  Your  stout  heart  conjectures  the  rest : 
— a  blow  to  the  one  and  a  kick  to  the  other,  and  I 
bear  off  the  prettiest  trembler  that  ever  leant  on  the 
arm  of  knight-errant, — escorted  her  home, — called 
thrice  since  that  fortunate  hour,  and  my  angel's  name, 
among  mortals,  is  Lucy  Thornside. 

SOFTHEAD. 

But  I  don't  as  yet  see  how  I 


WILMOT. 

You  are  so  hot  and  impatient !  Let  me  speak  :  her 
churl  of  a  father  has  already  given  me  to  understand 
that  he  hates  a  lord 

SOFTHEAD. 

Hates  a  lord  !     Can  such  men  be  ? 

WILMOT. 

And  despises  a  man  d-la-mode. 


34  KOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  I. 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  knew  he  was  eccentric,  but  this  is  downright  in- 
sanity. 

WILMOT. 

Brief.  I  see  very  well  that  he'll  soon  shut  his  doors 
in  my  face,  unless  I  make  him  believe  that  it  is  not 
his  daughter  who  attracts  me  to  his  house ;  so  I  tell 
you  what  we  will  do ; — You  shall  make  love  to  Lucy 
— violent  love,  you  rogue. 

SOFTHEAD. 

But  Sir  Geoffrey  knows  I'm  in  love  with  the  other. 

WILMOT. 

That's  over.  Father  refused  you — transfer  of  affec- 
tion ;  natural  pique  and  human  inconstancy.  And, 
in  return,  to  oblige  you,  I'll  make  love  just  as  violent 
to  Mistress  Barbara  Easy. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Stop,  stop  ;  I  don't  see  the  necessity  of  that. 

WILMOT. 

Pooh  !  nothing  more  clear.  Having  thus  duped 
the  two  lookers-on,  we  shall  have  ample  opportunity 
to  change  partners,  and  hands  across,  then  down  the 
middle  and  up  again.  {Enter  SMART. 

SMART. 
Your  coach  waits,  my  Lord. 

WILMOT. 

Come  along.  Fie  !  that's  not  the  way  to  conduct  a 
cane.  Has  not  Mr.  Pope,  our  great  poet  of  fashion, 
given  you  the  nicest  instructions  in  that  art  ? 


sc.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        35 

"  Sir  Plume,  of  amber  snuft'-box  justly  vain, 
And  the  nice  conduct  of  a  clouded  cane." 

The  cane  does  not  conduct  you ;  you  conduct  the 
cane.  Thus,  with  a  debonnair  swing.  Now,  t'other 
hand  on  your  haunch;  easy,  degage — impudently 
graceful ;  with  the  air  of  a  gentleman,  and  the  heart 
of  a — monster !  Allans  !  Vive  la  joie. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Vive  la  jaw,  indeed.     I  feel  as  if  I  were  going  to 
be  hanged.     Allons  !   Vive  la  jaw !  [Exeunt. 


END  OF  ACT  I. 


36  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM;  [ACT  11. 


ACT    II. 


SCENE  I. 

Library  in  the  House  of  SIR  GEOFFREY  THORNSIDE. — At  the 
back  a  large  Window  opening  nearly  to  the  ground. — Side- 
door  to  an  adjoining  room. — Style  of  decoration,  that  intro- 
duced from  the  Dutch  in  the  reign  of  William  III.  (old- 
fashioned,  therefore,  at  the  date  assigned  to  the  Play) — 
rich  and  heavy ;  oak  panels,  partly  gilt;  high-backed 
chairs,  <&c. 

Enter  SIR  GEOFFREY  and  HODGE. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

BUT,  I  say,  the  dog  did  howl  last  night,  and  it  is  a 
most  suspicious  circumstance. 

HODGE. 

Fegs,  my  dear  Measter,  if  you'se  think  that  these 
Lunnon  thieves  have  found  out  that  your  honor's  rents 
were  paid  last  woik,  mayhap  I'd  best  sleep  here  in  the 
loibery. 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (aside). 

How  does  he  know  I  keep  my  moneys  here  1 

HODGE. 

Zooks  !  I'se  the  old  blunderbuss,  and  that  will  boite 
better  than  any  dog,  I'se  warrant ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

(Aside.     I   begin  to  suspect  him.     For  ten  years 


so,  i.]        OR,  MAKY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        37 

have  I  nursed  that  viper  at  my  hearth,  and  now  he 
wants  to  sleep  in  my  library,  with  a  loaded  blunder- 
buss, in  case  I  should  come  in  and  detect  him.  I  see 
murder  in  his  very  face.  How  blind  I've  been !) 
Hodge,  you  are  very  good — very ;  come  closer. — 
(Aside.  'What  a  felon  step  he  has!)  But  I  don't 
keep  my  rents  here,  they're  all  gone  to  the  banker's. 

HODGE. 

Mayhap  I'd  best  go  and  lock  up  the  pleate ;  or 
will  you  send  that  to  the  banker's  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

(Aside.  I  wonder  if  he  has  got  an  accomplice  at 
the  banker's !  it  looks  uncommonly  like  it.)  No,  I'll 
not  send  the  plate  to  the  banker's,  I'll — consider. 
You've  not  detected  the  miscreant  who  has  been 
flinging  flowers  into  the  library  the  last  four  days  ? 

HODGE. 

Noa,  Sir  Geoffrey  ;  I'se  got  'em  all  safe  in  the  coal- 
hole ! — but  there  beant  any  gunpowder  in  'em.  What 
your  honor  took  for  the  head  of  an  adder  was — a 
sweet-pea ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

(Aside.  Ugh  ! — just  like  servants !  If  they  saw 
their  master  in  the  folds  of  a  boa  constrictor,  they'd 
tell  him  it  was  a  climbing  honeysuckle.)  Well,  and 
of  course  you've  not  observed  any  one  watching  your 
master,  when  he  walks  in  his  garden,  from  the  window 
of  that  ugly  old  house  in  Deadman's  Lane  ? 

HODGE. 

With  the  sign  of  the  Crown  and  Poor-Culley ! 
Why,  it  maun  be  very  leately.  'Tint  a  week  ago  sin' 
it  war  empty. 


88  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  n. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

(Aside.  How  he  evades  the  question  ! — -just  as 
they  do  at  the  Old  Bailey.)  Get  along  with  you,  and 
feed  the  house-dog — he's  honest ! 

HODGE. 
Yes,  your  honor.  [Exit. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

How  eagerly  he  said  "  Yes" — very  suspicious. 
Perhaps  he  wants  to  poison  the  dog — not  a  doubt  of 
it.  Hodge  !— Hodge  !— (Enter  HODGE.)  Don't  feed 
the  dog  ;  I'll  feed  him  myself. 

HODGE. 
Yes,  your  honor.  [Exit. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

I'm  a  very  unhappy  man,  very !  Never  did  harm 
to  any  one — done  good  to  many.  And  ever  since  I 
was  a  babe  in  the  cradle,  all  the  world  have  been  con- 
spiring and  plotting  against  me.  It  certainly  is  an 
exceedingly  wicked  world ;  and  what  its  attraction  can 
be  to  the  other  worlds,  that  they  should  have  kept  it 
spinning  through  space  for  six  thousand  years,  I  can't 
possibly  conceive — unless  they  are  as  bad  as  itself;  I 
should  not  wonder.  That  new  theory  of  attraction  is 
a  very  suspicious  circumstance  against  the  planets — 
there's  a  gang  of  'em  !  ( A  bunch  of  flowers  is  thrown 
in  at  the  window.)  Heaven  defend  me  !  There  it  is 
again  !  This  is  the  fifth  bunch  of  flowers  that's  been 
thrown  at  me  through  the  window — what  can  it  pos- 
sibly mean  ? — the  most  alarming  circumstance  !  (Cau- 
tiously poking  at  the  flowers  ivith  his  sword.) 

MR.  GOODENOUGH  EASY  (without). 

Yes,  Barbara,  go  and  find  Mistress  Lucy.     Never 


BO.  L]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         39 

mind   announcing   me,   Hodge,    I'm    at  Lome   here. 
(Entering)     How  d'ye  do,  my  hearty  ? 

SIR  GEOFFRET. 

Ugh  !  hearty,  indeed  ! 

EASY. 

Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  what  are  you  poking  at 
those  flowers  for  ;  is  there  a  snake  in  them  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Worse  than  that,  I  suspect !  Hem  !  Goodenough 
Easy,  I  believe  I  may  trust  you 

EASY. 
You  trusted  me  once  with  five  thousand  pounds. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Dear,  dear,  I  forgot  that.  But  you  paid  me  back, 
Easy? 

EASY. 

Of  course  ;  but  the  loan  saved  my  credit,  and  made 
my  fortune ;  so  the  favor's  the  same. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh  !  Don't  say  that ;  favors  and  perfidy  go  to- 
gether I  a  truth  I  learned  early  in  life.  What  favors 
I  heaped  on  my  foster-brother !  And  did  he  not  con- 
spire with  my  cousin  to  set  my  own  father  against  me ; 
and  trick  me  out  of  my  heritage  ? 

EASY. 

But  you've  heaped  favors  as  great  on  the  son  of  that 
scamp  of  a  foster-brother ;  and  he 


40  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  TI. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ay !  but  he  don't  know  of  them.  And  then  there 
was  my — that  girl's  mother 

EASY. 

Ah !  that  was  an  affliction  which  might  well  turn  a 
man  pre-inclined  to  suspicion,  into  a  thorough  self- 
tormentor  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  But  she  loved  you 
dearly  once,  old  friend ;  and  were  she  yet  alive,  and 
could  be  proved  guiltless  after  all — 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Guiltless!  Sir?— 

EASY. 

Well — well !  we  agreed  never  to  talk  upon  that 
subject.  Come,  come,  what  of  the  nosegay  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Yes,  yes,  the  nosegay !  Hark !  I  suspect  some 
design  on  my  life.  The  dog  howled  last  night.  When 
I  walk  in  the  garden,  somebody  or  something  (can't 
see  what  it  is)  seems  at  the  watch  in  a  window  in 
Deadman's  Lane — pleasant  name  for  a  street  at  the 
back  of  one's  premises  !  And  what  looks  blacker  than 
all,  for  five  days  running,  has  been  thrown  in  at  me, 
yonder,  surreptitiously  and  anonymously,  what  you 
call — a  nosegay  ! 

EASY. 

Ha !  ha !  you  lucky  dog  ! — you  are  still  not  bad- 
looking  !  Depend  on  it,  the  flowers  come  from  a 
woman. 

SIR  GEOFFRET. 

A  woman  ! — my  worst  fears  are  confirmed  !  In  the 
small  city  of  Placentia,  in  one  year,  there  were  no  less 
than  seven  hundred  cases  of  slow  poisoning,  and  all  by 


sc.  T.J       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        41 

women.  Flowers  were  among  the  instruments  they 
employed,  steeped  in  laurel-water,  and  other  mephitic 
preparations.  Those  flowers  are  poisoned.  Not  a 
doubt  of  it ! — how  very  awful ! 

EASY. 

But  why  should  any  one  take  the  trouble  to  poison 
you,  Geoffrey  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

I  don't  know.  But  I  don't  know  why  seven  hund- 
red people  in  one  year  were  poisoned  in  Placentia. 
Hodge !  Hodge ! 

Enter  HODGE. 

Bring  a  shovel  and  brush ! — sweep  away  those 
flowers ! — lock  'em  up  with  the  rest  in  the  coal-hole. 
I'll  examine  them  all  chemically,  by-and-by,  with  pre- 
caution. [Exit  HODGE. 
EASY. 

But,  Geoffrey,  when  a  man  has  a  daughter  of  an 
age  in  which  flowers  are  not  locked  up  in  a  coal-hole, 
mayn't  he  suspect  that  such  mephitic  preparations  are 
intended  for  her  ? 

Enter  HODGE  to  remove  the  flowers. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh  ! — as  if  I  had  not  thought  that  at  first ;  but 
why  should  they  always  be  thrown  into  my  special 
sitting-room,  at  the  very  hour  I  enter  it,  only  when 
I'm  alone?  (To  HODGE.)  Don't  smell  at  'em;  and, 
above  all,  don't  let  the  house-dog  smell  at  'em. 

EASY. 
Ha !  ha ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

(Aside.   Ugh  ! — that  brute's   laughing ! — no  more 


42  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  n. 

feeling  than  a  brickbat !)     Goodenough  Easy,  you  are 
a  very  happy  man. 

EASY. 
Happy,  yes.    I  could  be  happy  on  bread  and  water  { 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

And  would  toast  your  bread  at  a  conflagration,  and 
fill  your  jug  from  a  deluge !  Ugh !  I've  a  trouble 
you  are  more  likely  to  feel  for,  as  you've  a  girl  of  your 
own  to  keep  out  of  mischief.  A  man  named  Wilmot, 
and  styled  "  my  Lord,"  has  called  here  three  times ;  he 
pretends  he  saved  my — ahem  ! — that  is,  Lucy,  from 
footpads,  when  she  was  coming  home  from  your  house 
in  a  sedan  chair.  And  T  suspect  that  the  man  means 
to  make  love  to  her ! 

EASY. 

Egad  !  that's  the  only  likely  suspicion  you've  hit  on 
this  many  a  day.  I've  heard  of  Lord  Wilmot.  Soft- 
head professes  to  copy  him.  Rather  a  madcap.  But 
his  companions  adore  him.  Wish  you  joy  1 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Joy ! — you  have  the  strangest  expressions ! — there's 
no  wringing  sympathy  out  of  you.  Joy,  indeed !  a 
gay  man  a-la-mode!  I've  seen  eno'  of  such  villains. 
No  girl  whom  I  can  control  shall  ever  marry  one  of 
these  heroes  of  Congreve  and  Wycherley.  Ugh !  you 
did  right,  for  once  in  your  life,  when  you  broke  off  the 
match  between  Mr.  Softhead  and  Barbara,  on  the 
ground  that  the  fool  had  become — a  fine  gentleman ! 

EASY. 

O  Lord,  just  the  reverse  ! — that  the  fool  could  never 
become  a  fine  gentleman  !  I'm  not  severe ;  but  I  am 
independent  If  there's  a  thing  I  despise  in  the  world, 


so.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         43 

'tis  a  simpleton  led  away  by  example.  Every  class  has 
its  faults  and  its  merits.  Let  each  stick  to  its  own. 
Softhead,  the  son  of  a  trader !  he  be  a  lounger  at 
White's  and  Will's,  and  dine  with  wits  and  fine  gentle- 
men !  He  live  with  lords  ! — he  mimic  fashion  !  No  ! 
I've  respect  for  even  the  faults  of  a  man  ;  but  I've  none 
for  the  tricks  of  a  monkey. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh !  you're  so  savage  on  Softhead,  I  suspect  'tis 
from  envy.  Man  and  monkey,  indeed  !  If  a  ribbon 
is  tied  to  the  tail  of  a  monkey,  it  is  not  the  man  it 
enrages ;  it  is  some  other  monkey  whose  tail  has  no 
ribbon ! 

EASY  (angrily). 

I  disdain  your  insinuations.  Do  you  mean  to  imply 
that  I  am  a  monkey?  I  won't  praise  myself;  but  at 
least  a  more  steady,  respectable,  sober 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh !  sober ! — I  suspect  you'd  get  as  drunk  as  a 
lord,  if  a  lord  passed  the  bottle  ! 

EASY. 

Now,  now  now.  Take  care ; — you'll  put  me  in  a 
passion. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

There — there — beg  pardon.  But  I  fear  you've  a 
sneaking  respect  for  a  lord 

EASY. 

Sir,  I  respect  the  British  Constitution  and  the  House 
of  Peers  as  a  part  of  it ; '  but  as  for  a  lord  in  himself, 
with  a  mere  handle  to  his  name,  a  paltry  title !  That 
can  have  no  effect  on  a  Briton,  of  independence  and 
sense.  And  that's  just  the  difference  between  Softhead 


44  NOT  SO  BAB  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  IT. 

and  me.  But  as  you  don't  like  for  a  son-in-law,  the 
real  fine  gentleman ;  perhaps  you've  a  mind  to  the 
copy.  I  am  sure  you  are  welcome  to  Softhead. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Ugh  !  I've  other  designs  for  the  girl. 

EASY. 

Have  you  ?  What  ?  Perhaps  your  favorite,  young 
Hardman  ? — by  the  way,  I've  not  met  him  here  lately. 

Enter  LUCY  and  BARBARA. 

LUCY. 

O,  my  dear  father,  forgive  me  if  I  disturb  you ;  but 
I  did  so  long  to  see  you  I 

SIR    GEOFFREY 

Why? 

LUCY. 

Because  Hodge  told  me  you'd  been  alarmed  last 
night — the  dog  howled  !  But  it  was  full  moon  last 
night,  and  he  will  howl  at  the  moon ! 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

How  did  she  know  it  was  full  moon  ?  I  suspect 
she  was  looking  out  of  the  window 

Enter  HODGE  announcing  LORD  WILMOT  and 
MR.  SHADOWLY  SOFTHEAD. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Wilmot !  my  suspicions  are  confirmed ;  she  was 
looking  out  of  the  window !  This  comes  of  Shak- 
speare  having  written  that  infernal  incendiary  trash 
about  Romeo  and  Juliet ! 


sc,  L]       OK,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        45 

Enter  WILMOT  and  SOFTHEAD. 

WILMOT. 

Your  servant,  ladies  ; — Sir  Geoffrey,  your  servant. 
I  could  not  refuse  Mr.  Softhead's  request  to  inquire 
after  your  health. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

I  thank  your  lordship ;  but  when  my  health  wants 
inquiring  after,  I  send  for  the  doctor. 

WILMOT. 

Is  it  possible  you  can  do  any  thing  so  dangerous 
and  rash? 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

How  ? — how  ? 

WILMOT. 

Send  for  the  very  man  who  has  an  interest  in  your 
being  ill ! 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

That's  very  true.  I  did  not  think  he  had  so  much 
sense  in  him ! 

WILMOT. 

I  need  not  inquire  how  you  are,  ladies  ?  When 
Hebe  retired  from  the  world,  she  divided  her  bloom 
between  you.  Mistress  Barbara,  vouchsafe  me  the 
honor  a  queen  accords  to  the  meanest  of  her  gentle- 
men. [Kisses  BARBARA'S  hand,  and  leads  her 
aside,  conversing  in  dumb  show. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Ah,  Mistress  Lucy,  vouchsafe  me  the  honor  which — 
But  she  don't  hold  her  hand  in  the  same  position. 

LUCY  (turning  round). 
What  did  you  say,  Mr.  Softhead  1 


46  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  n. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Hem !  How  was  it  ? — oh,  the  meanest  of  your 
majesty's  gentlemen.  [Imitates  WILMOT. 

EASY. 
Bravo ! — bravo !  Master  Softhead  ! — Encore  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Bravo ! — Encore !  I  don't  understand  you,  Mr. 
Easy. 

EASY. 

That  bow  of  yours !  Perfect !  Plain  to  see  you 
have  not  forgotten  the  old  Dancing  Master  in  Crooked 
Lane. 

LUCY. 

Fie,  Mr.  Easy ! — your  bow's  charming,  Mr.  Sha- 
dowly. 

SOFTHEAD. 

It  is  not  a  common  bow,  I  confess ;  I  and  Lord 
Wilmot — that  is  my  friend,  Fred,  yonder,  have  a  bow 
of  our  own.  We  are  so  alike  in  all  things.  We  are 
often  mistaken  for  each  other — (Aside — I'm  not  an 
inconstant  man ;  but  I'll  show  that  City  fellow,  there 
are  other  ladies  in  town  besides  his  daughter) — 
Dimidum  mece,  how  pretty  you  are,  Mistress  Lucy ! 

[  Walks  aside  with  her. 

EASY. 

Ha  I  ha !  Geoffrey,  I  said  you  were  welcome  to 
Softhead.  Quick  work.  One  would  think  he'd  over- 
heard, and  was  taking  me  at  my  word. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

And  I  see  that  popinjay  of  a  lord  is  more  attentive 
to  Barbara  than  ever  he  was  to  the  other. 


so.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        47 
EASY. 

Hey  !  hey  !     D'ye  think  so  ? 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

I  suspect  he  has  heard  how  rich  you  are.  He 
seems  a  brisk,  lively  rogue.  Best  look  sharp, — just 
one  of  those  Hymen-men,  who  knock  down  a  father 
before  he  knows  where  he  is,  with  '  Stand  and  de- 
liver !  your  child  and  your  money !' 

EASY. 

Certainly  I  should  scorn  to  ask  a  lord  to  marry  my 
daughter ;  but  if  he  were  to  ask  me*  'Pon  my 

life,  I  think  there's  something  in  it. 

WILMOT  and  BARBARA  approaching 

BARBARA. 

Papa,  Lord  Wilmot  begs  to  be  presented  to  you. 

[Bows  interchanged.  WILMOT  offers  snuff-box. 
EASY  at  first  declines,  then  accepts — sneezes 
violently  ;  unused  to  snuff. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

He !  he  !  quite  clear  ! — titled  fortune-hunter.  Over 
head  and  ears  in  debt,  I  dare  say.  Found  out  from 
poor  Softhead  that  Easy's  as  rich  as  a  Jew ;  and  now 
the  mercenary  wretch  is  trying  to  supplant  his  own 
friend.  If  so,  Lucy's  safe  !  Nobody  knows  how  rich 
I  am — take  very  good  care  of  that.  But  I'll  make 
all  sure.  (Takes  WILMOT  aside.)  Pretty  girl,  Mis- 
tress Barbara !  Eh  ? 

WILMOT. 

Pretty!     Say  beautiful! 


48  NOT  SO  BAB  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  n. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

He !  he  !  Her  father  will  give  her  fifty  thousand 
pounds  down  on  her  wedding-day.  Better  off  than  my 
girl,  who  (if  she  marry  with  my  consent)  would  only 
have  a  poor  little  property  of  the  worst  land  in  Nor- 
folk, and  not  a  rood  of  that  till  I'm  dead.  And, 
zounds,  my  Lord !  I'm  vigorous,  and  intend  to  live  these 
thirty  years. 

WILMOT. 

(Aside.  The  paternal  enemy  falls  into  the  ambush.) 
Fifty  thousand  pounds  on  the  wedding-day  !  She's 
the  loveliest  creature  I  ever  saw  ! 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Tho'  her  father's  in  commerce,  you  fine  gentlemen 
don't  live  as  if  you  had  much  respect  for  your  ances- 
tors :  you  are  too  liberal  to  think  that  a  man's  want 
of  birth  should  prevent  him  from  satisfying  your  want 
of  money. 

WILMOT. 

Indeed  I  am,  and  I  venerate  the  British  merchant 
who  can  give  his  daughter  fifty  thousand  pounds! 
What  a  smile  she  has  !  (Hooking  his  arm  into  SIR 
GEOFFREY'S.)  I  say,  Sir  Geoffrey,  you  see  I'm  very 
shy — bashful  indeed — and  Mr.  Easy  is  watching  every 
word  I  say  to  his  daughter  :  so  embarrassing ! 
Couldn't  you  get  him  out  of  the  room  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Mighty  bashful  indeed !  Turn  the  oldest  friend  I 
have  out  of  my  room,  in  order  that  you  may  make 
love  to  his  daughter.  (Turns  away.) 

WILMOT  tO  EASY. 

I  say,  Mr.  Easy.  My  double  there,  Softhead,  is  so 
shy — bashful  indeed — and  that  suspicious  Sir  Geoffrey 


so.  i.]       OK,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        49 

is  watching  every  word  he  says  to  Mistress  Lucy :  so 
embarrassing !  Do  get  your  friend  out  of  the  room, 
will  you  ? 

EASY. 

Ha!  ha!  Certainly,  my  Lord.  (Aside.  I  see  he 
wants  to  be  alone  with  my  Barbara.  What  will 
they  say  in  Lombard-street  when  she's  my  Lady? 
Shouldn't  wonder  if  they  returned  me  M.P.  for  the 
City.)  Come  into  the  next  room,  Geoffrey  ;  and  tell 
me  your  designs  for  Lucy. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Oh,  very  well !  You  wish  to  encourage  that  pam- 
pered young — Satrap  !  How  he  does  love  a  lord,  and 
how  a  lord  does  love  50,000/. !  He  !  he !  I  know  a 
little  of  the  world.  He  !  he  !  [Exit  within. 

EASY. 

Monstrous  fine  young  man  that,  Mistress  Lucy, — 
not  a  bit  proud — no  airs  and  graces. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Oh,  the  best  little  fellow  in  the  world,  my  friend 
Fred 


EASY. 

Your  friend  Fred  !  Mr.  Softhead,  I  despise  the  man 
who  has  his  head  so  turned  by  a  lord. 

[Exit  after  SIR  GEOFFREY. 

WILMOT  (running  to  LUCY,  and  pushing  aside 

SOFTHEAD). 

Return  to  your  native  allegiance.     Truce  with  the 
enemy,  and  exchange  of  prisoners. 

[Leads  LUCY  aside — She  rather 
grave  and  reluctant. 
D 


50  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  n. 

BARBARA. 

So,  you'll  not  speak  to  me,  Mr.  Softhead  ;  words  are 
too  rare  with  you  fine  gentlemen,  to  throw  away  upon 
old  friends. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Ahem ! 

BARBARA. 

You  don't  remember  the  winter  evenings  you  used 
to  pass  at  our  fireside  ?  nor  the  mistletoe  bough  at 
Christmas?  nor  the  pleasant  games  at  Blind-man's 
Buff  and  Hunt  the  Slipper  ?  nor  the  strong  tea  I 
made  you  when  you  had  the  migraine  1  nor  how  I 
prevented  your  eating  Banbury  cake  at  supper,  when 
you  know  it  always  disagrees  with  you? — But,  I  sup- 
pose you  are  so  hardened  that  you  can  eat  Banbury 
cake  every  night,  now ! — I'm  sure  it  is  nothing  to  me  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Those  recollections  of  one's  early  innocence  are  very 
melting !  One  renounces  a  great  deal  of  happiness 
for  renown  and  ambition. — Barbara ! 

BARBARA. 

Shadow ly ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

However  one  may  rise  in  life, — however  the  fashion 
may  compel  one  to  be  a  monster 

BARBARA. 

A  monster ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Yes,  Fred  and  I  are  both  monsters  !  Still — still — 
still — 'Ecod,  I  do  love  you  with  all  my  heart,  and 
that's  the  truth  of  it. 


so.  i.]        OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER,       51 
BARBARA. 

Oh,  Shadowly  !  that  dear  Lord  Wilmot ! 

SOFTHEAD  (alarmed  and  clapping  his  hand  to  his 

siuord). 
Ha  !  the  villain  ! 

BARBARA. 

fe  says  he's  sure  you've  never  been  false. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Fred's  a  jewel !  what  a  pity  your  Cit  of  a  father 
can't  abide  the  upper  walks  of  society. 

WILMOT  and  LUCY  advancing. 

LUCY. 
Nay,  my  Lord,  this  looks  so  like  deceit ! 

WILMOT. 

But  you  must  pardon  a  deceit  that's  so  harmless. 
Sir  Geoffrey's  prejudice  against  me  must  be  humored 
till  I've  time  to  remove  it.  I  can  not  live  without 
seeing  you — you  have  bewitched  me ! 

LUCY. 

Ah — my  Lord  !  I'm  afraid  you've  been  very  often 
— bewitched ! 

WILMOT. 
Fie  !  you  are  as  suspicious  as  your  father. 

LUCY  (courtesying). 

Your  Lordship's  reputation  is  far  beyond — suspi- 
cions ! 

WILMOT. 

She's  been  inquiring  into  my  reputation.  An  ex- 
cellent symptom  !  But,  my  charming  Lucy — when 


52  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  11. 

one  takes  up  the  character  of  a  servant,  'tis  a  sort  of 
etiquette  to  engage  him. 

LUCY. 
Surely  that  depends  on  the  character ! 

WILMOT. 
And  what  can  be  said  against  mine  ? 

LUCY. 

Only  that  your  Lordship  is  not — a  very  faithful 
servant ! 

WILMOT. 

Her  archness  delights  me.  I  have  found  what  I 
have  sought  all  my  life,  the  union  of  spirit  and  sweet- 
ness, innocence  and  gayety.  Oh,  Lucy,  if  the  renunci- 
ation of  all  youthful  levities  and  follies,  if  the  most 
steadfast  adherence  to  your  side — despite  all  the 

chances  of  life,  all  temptations,  all  dangers 

[HARDMAN'S  voice  without. 

BARBARA. 

Hist !  some  one  coming. 

WILMOT. 
Change  partners ;  hands  across.    My  angel  Barbara ! 

Enter  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

Lord  Wilrnot  here  ! 

WILMOT. 
What !  does  lie  know  Sir  Geoffrey  ? 

BARBARA. 

Oh  yes.    Sir  Geoffrey  thinks  there's  nobody  like  him. 


sc.  i.l       OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         53 

HARDMAN  (who  has  been  saluting  LUCY). 
Footpads  !     Hum  !     And  pray  how  long  since  ? 

WILMOT. 

Well  met,  my  dear  Hardman.  So  you  are  intimate 
here? 

HARDMAN, 

Ay  ;  and  you  ? 

WILMOT. 

An  acquaintance  in  its  cradle ;  just  a  week  old. 
Droll  man,  Sir  Geoffrey ;  I  delight  in  odd  characters. 
Besides,  here  are  other  attractions. 

[Returning  to  BARBARA. 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

If  he  be  my  rival !  Hum !  I  hear  from  David 
Fallen  that  his  father's  on  the  brink  of  high  treason ! 
That  secret  gives  a  hold  on  the  son.  [Joins  LUCY. 

WILMOT  tO  BARBARA. 

You  understand;  'tis  a  compact.  You  will  favor 
my  stratagem  ? 

BARBARA. 

Yes ;  and  you'll  engage  to  cure  Softhead  of  his  taste 
for  the  fashion,  and  send  him  back  to the  City. 

WILMOT. 

Since  you  live  in  the  City,  and  condescend  to  regard 
such  a  monster ! 

BARBARA. 

Why,  we  were  brought  up  together.  His  health  is 
so  delicate ;  I  should  like  to  take  care  of  him. 

WILMOT. 
If  that  is  not  woman  all  over,  I  don't  know  what  is ! 


64  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  n. 

BARBARA. 

And  he's  not  so  bad  as  he  seems.  Heigho !  I  am 
afraid  'tis  too  late,  and  papa  will  never  forgive  his  past 
follies. 

WILMOT. 

Yet  papa  seems  very  good-natured.  Perhaps  there's 
another  side  to  his  character  ? 

BARBARA. 

Oh  yes  !  He  is  such  a  very  independent  man,  my 
papa !  and  has  such  a  contempt  for  people  who  go  out 
of  their  own  rank,  and  make  fools  of  themselves  for 
the  sake  of  example. 

WILMOT. 

Never  fear;  I'll  ask  him  to  dine,  and  open  his 
heart  with  a  cheerful  glass. 

BARBARA. 

Cheerful  glass !  You  don't  know  papa — the  soberest 
man  !  If  there's  any  thing  on  which  he's  severe,  'tis 
a  cheerful  glass. 

WILMOT. 
So,  so !    Does  not  he  ever — get  a  little  excited  ? 

BARBARA. 

Excited  !  Don't  think  of  it !  Besides,  he  is  so  in 
awe  of  Sir  Geoffrey,  who  would  tease  him  out  of  his 
life,  if  he  could  but  hear  that  papa  was  so  inconsistent 
as  to — as  to 

WILMOT. 

As  to  get — a  little  excited  ?  (Aside.  These  hints 
should  suffice  me  !  'Gad,  if  I  could  make  him  tipsy 
for  once  in  a  way  ! — I'll  try.)  Adieu,  my  sweet  Bar- 


so.  L]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        55 

bara,  and  rely  on  the  zeal  of  your  faithful  ally.  Stay  ; 
tell  Mr.  Easy  that  he  must  lounge  into  Will's.  I  will 
look  out  for  him  there  in  about  a  couple  of  hours. 
He'll  meet  many  friends  from  the  City,  and  all  the 
wits  and  fine  gentlemen.  Don't  forget.  (Aside.  Yes, 
I  shall  find  Tonson  at  Will's.  Let  me  see.  Set 
Hardman  to  keep  my  wise  father  from  mischief; — get 
at  that  diabolical  Memoir ; — intoxicate  Easy  ; — cure 
Softhead  of  fashion ; — call  to-night  on  the  Lady  of 
Mystery,  Deadman's  Lane; — meanwhile  stole  a  march 
on  General  "  Ugh  !  I  suspect ;" — and  half-way  to  a 
wife.  'Gad,  'tis  not  such  a  dull  day  after  all !) 
Allons  !  Vive  Id  joie  !  Softhead,  we'll  have  a  night 
of  it! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Ah !  those  were  pleasant  nights  when  one  went  to 
bed  at  half  after  ten.  Heigho  !  Adieu,  Barbara. 

BARBARA. 

Adieu,  Shadowly.      [Exit  WILMOT  and  SOFTHEAD. 

LUCY. 
Where  are  you  going,  dear  ? 

BARBARA. 

Just  into  the  garden,  to  have  a  good  cry.  I'll  be 
back  presently.  [Exit.  LUCY  takes  her  work,  and  sits. 

HARDMAN, 

Hum  !  I'm  perplexed.  Can  it  be  Barbara  ?  Yet 
Lucy  looks  changed  since  I  saw  her  last — since  Wil- 
mot  has  known  her — more  grave.  I  dread  to 

LUCY  (sighing  heavily). 
Ah,  Mr.  Hardman  ! 


50                   NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;             [ACT  11. 
Why  that  sigh  ?  You,  sad,  whose  happy  mirth 

LUCY  (coming  forward). 

Is  not  always  sincere.  Ah,  Mr.  Hardman,  my  father 
confides  to  you  many  of  his  secrets.  Did  he  ever  tell 
you  what  fault  I  can  amend,  so  that  he  might  love  me 
better  ?  Not  once  from  my  cradle  has  he  even  called 
me  by  the  sweet  name  of  child. 

HARDMAN. 

Nay,  'tis  but  his  humors  that  conceal  from  you  his 
heart.  A  parent's  love  is  too  precious  a  thing  to  be 
doubted  lightly.  But  perhaps  it  is  a  mother  that 
you  miss  ? 

LUCY. 

I  never  remember  to  have  seen  one ;  but  I  miss  her 
daily.  (Aside.  And  never  more  than  now  !) 

HARDMAN. 

Be  comforted.  My  lot  is  harder  than  yours.  Far 
as  I  can  look  back  into  childhood — motherless,  father- 
less, homeless,  friendless,  lonely 

LUCY. 

Poor  Mr.  Hardman.  I  did  not  dream  that  you 
had  such  cause  for  sorrow.  Seeing  you  so  occupied 
and  ambitious,  one  would  not  guess  you  concealed 
feelings  thus  deep. 

HARDMAN. 

What !  are  deep  feelings  the  monopoly  of  triflers  ? 
Does  the  heart  only  beat  under  the  velvet  and  laces  of 
those  spoiled  darlings  of  fortune  ? 

LUCY. 
What  spoiled  darlings  of  fortune  ? 


so.  L]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         57 

HARDMAN. 

Men  like  the  sleek  lord  whom  I  found  here  !  Men 
who  are  born  to  the  hill-top  that  we  sons  of  labor 
reach  but  to  die.  Ah,  were  the  world  but  a  stage, 
they  might  have  their  first  choice  of  the  pageant  and 
wardrobe  ;  I  would  grudge  not  the  spangles  and  tinsel. 

LUCY. 

Dear  Mr.  Hardman :  you — (Aside.  I  never  saw 
him  so  before  1) 

HARDMAN. 

But  the  world's  something  more  than  a  stage.  Man 
is  not  always  an  actor.  And  woe  to  those  darlings  of 
fortune,  when  in  the  great  war  of  the  passions  they 
strive,  breast  to  breast,  with  us,  stern  sons  of  labor ! 
They,  unnerved  by  the  sunshine, — we,  braced  by  the 
storm.  Ha !  ha  ! — we  are  stronger  than  they  ! 

LUCY. 

You  are  strangely  moved,  Mr.  Hardman.  Have 
you  any  quarrel  with  him — with  Lord  Wilmot  ? 

HARDMAN. 

(Aside.  I  betray  myself  like  an  infant.)  Lord  Wil- 
mot !  'Twas  an  old,  very  old,  but  very  sore  recollection 
of  very  different  persons — mere  triflers — that  made  me 
unjust  for  a  moment — to  a  man  of  the  rarest  accom- 
plishments. Pray,  what  do  you  think  of  Lord  Wil- 
mot? 

Enter  BARBARA. 

LUCY  (resuming  her  work  with  her  face  turned  away). 
Tndeed  I  can't  say  ;  I've  seen  him  so  seldom. 

BARBARA. 

I  think  him 


58  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  n. 

HA  RDM  AN  (turning  round). 
You !  yes,  you  think  him  ? 

BARBARA. 

The  most  charming,  irresistible — heigho ! 

HARDMAN. 

Indeed  !  he,  seemed  most  attentive  to  yon.  Now  I 
look  at  the  girl,  she's  not  ugly.  I  trust  that  the  feel- 
ing's reciprocal  ? 

BARBARA. 

It  ought  to  be — if  there's  any  believing  the  promises 
and  vows  of  you  dangerous,  deceitful  men. 

HARDMAN. 

Promises — vows !  Now,  I  look  again,  the  girl's 
pretty — decidedly  pretty  !  exceedingly  pretty  !  Why 
not  she,  after  all  ? 

BARBARA  (glancing  slyly  toward  LUCY). 
Do  you  think  a  poor  innocent  girl  may  safely  trust 
her  heart  to  Lord  Wilmot  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Indeed  I  do ;  the  most  honorable  of  men  !  (Seating 
himself.)  (Aside.  Even  were  it  so,  dare  I  hope  for 
myself  ?  So  fair,  and  an  heiress  !  Tut !  Have  I  ever 
yet  failed  in  my  struggle  through  life,  aided  but  by  my 
will  and  my  brain?  And  now  this  twofold  prize. 
Love  for  my  happiness — wealth  for  my  ambition. 
Scheme  now,  plotting  brain, — dare  now,  stubborn 
will! 

Enter  SIR  GEOFFREY  and  EASY. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

There  he  is — seated  apart — will  not  even  speak  to 
that  girl  in  my  absence.  So  punctiliously  honorable ! 


sc.  i.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         59 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

But  the  father's  consent !  Bah !  I've  already  got  at 
the  right  side  of  his  character. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Hush!  Muttering  some  speech  in  defence  of  his 
country. 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

If,  too,  I  could  get  that  place  in  the  treasury ! — 
Make  my  suit  less  presumptuous.  Shall  I  write  to  Sir 
Robert? 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (advancing). 

He !  he !  my  dear  Hardman.  We  guess  your 
thoughts. 

HARDMAN.    ^f^**         ^^^S 

Heh!  Sir  Geoffrey,  you  stating  j  IJT^Jg  j  *L 

EASY.      " 

Hope  it  will  succeed. 

HARDMAN  (falteringly). 
What  succeed  ? 

EASY. 

Pooh  !  don't  look  so  embarrassed  and  awkward. 
I'm  a  bit  of  an  orator  myself,  and  we  all  know  that 
young  members  get  their  speeches  by  heart. 

HARDMAN. 

Oh !  you  are  so  shrewd,  Mr.  Easy. 

EASY  (taking  him  aside). 

Not  I;  but  you  do  know  every  thing.  Intimate 
with  Lord  Wilmot,  eh  ?  Fine  young  man  !  Smitten 
with  my  little  .girl !  But  that  suspicious  old  snarler 


60  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  a. 

says,  'tis  all  for  her  money.    Should  not  lik*  that.    My 
Lord's  not  in  debt,  eh  1 

HARDMAN. 

Debt!  he  abhors  it.  Generous;  but  prudent  i 
know  all  his  affairs. 

As  HARDMAN  leaves  EASY, 
SIR  GEOFFREY  (seizing  him). 
He  !  he !   I  did  it.   Said  she'd  fifty  thousand  pounds 

HARDMAN. 

You  are  the  most  sagacious,  incomparable  man ! 
(Aside.  I  am  assured !  Wilmot  is  not  my  rival.  I'll 
save  his  father.  David  Fallen  meets  Lord  Loftus  at 
Will's.  I'll  be  there.)  My  dear  Sir  Geoffrey  !  (Shakes 
hands.) 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

I'm  not  like  Easy.  I  have  a  pedigree,  as  long  as  a 
Welchman's — much  good  it  ever  did  me  !  I'd  rather 
give  my  heiress  to  a  man  who  made  his  own  way 
through  life  than  to  a — 

HARDMAN. 

You  would  ?  (Aside.  I  will  write  to  Wai  pole  at 
once  for  that  place.)  Bless  me,  how  late  it  is !  I 
must  be  off.  Good-by,  Mr.  Easy.  My  heartfelt  con- 
gratulations. I  shall  be  at  Will's  myself — later. 
Good-by,  Sir  Geoffrey. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh !  always  in  a  hurry. 

EASY. 

But  always  getting  on.     What's  your  secret  ? 


sc.  I.]       OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHABAOTER.         61 

HARDMAN  (holding  up  Ms  watch). 
This.  The  way  to  get  on  is  to  be  never  behind 
time.  More  than  that,  Mr.  Easy — what  is  mind  with- 
out action  ?  a  watch  without  hands ! — the  wheels  may 
go  round,  the  chainwork  may  lengthen — what  use  in 
either  unless  the  hands  make  us  sure  of  the  moment 
and  hour  ?  Wheel  and  hands — thought  and  action — 
brain  and  will.  Your  hand,  Mistress  Lucy  !  \Exit. 

EASY. 

Quite  the  man  of  business!     So — what  I  call — 
practical !     Very  clever  fellow ! 

BARBARA  (aside  to  LUCY,  her  finger  on  her  Up). 
Yet,  I  think  I  have  puzzled  him. 

LUCY  (aloud  and  thoughtfully). 
I  am  sure  he  himself  is  a  puzzle. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh !  as  honest  as  Truth 

EASY. 

And  as  deep  as  her  well ! 


END  OF  ACT  II. 


62  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  in. 


ACT    III. 


SCENE   I. 

Will's  Coffee-house  ;  occupying  the  depth  of  the  stage.  Vari- 
ous groups :  LORD  LE  TRIMMER,  SIR  THOMAS  TIMID, 
COLONEL  FLINT,  JACOB  TONSON,  <fec. ;  some  seated  in  boxes, 
some  standing.  In  a  box  at  the  side,  DAVID  FALLEN 
seated,  writing.  Enter  EASY. 

EASY  (speaking  to  various  acquaintances  as  he 

passes  to  the  background). 

How  d'ye  do  ? — Have  you  seen  my  Lord  Wilmot  ? 
— Good-day. — Yes  ;  I  seldom  come  here ;  but  I've 
promised  to  meet  an  intimate  friend  of  mine — Lord 
Wilmot. — Servant,  sir ! — looking  for  my  friend  Wil- 
mot:— Oh!  not  come  yet!— hum — ha! — Charming 
young  man,  Wilmot : — head  of  the  mode ;  generous, 
but  prudent.  I  know  all  his  affairs. 

Enter  Newsman. 

Great  news !  great  news !  Suspected  Jacobite 
Plot ! — Fears  of  ministers  ! — Army  to  be  increased ! 
Great  news ! 

[Coffee-house  frequenters  gather  round  Newsman — 
take  papers  — form  themselves  into  fresh 
groups.  Enter  HARDMAN. 

SEVERAL    VOICES. 

There's  Hardman — the  rising  Member  of  Parlia- 


so.  L]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        63 

ment — hand  in  glove  with  Sir  Robert ! — knows  every 
thing  ! 

[Crowd  round  HARDMAN,  and  seem  to  question  him 
in  dumb  show. 

HARDMAN. 

Ha  !  ha ! — Sir  Robert  Walpole  alarmed  ?  Never 
saw  him  in  such  spirits.  Oh,  sir,  must  not  believe 
any  newspaper  except  the  ministerial ! — Funds  fallen, 
you  say  ? — Well,  I  should  not  let  out  state  secrets ; 
but  this  I  will  tell  you  in  confidence — keep  in  Sir 
Robert,  and  the  Funds  will  be  up  ten  per  cent,  in  a 
fortnight.  (Takes  aside  LORD  LE  TRIMMER.)  My 
dear  lord,  you're  the  very  man  I  want  to  see.  The 
Lieutenancy  for  your  county  is  just  vacant.  In  these 
critical  times,  who  but  your  lordship  should  have  that 
office  ?  Go  and  call  on  Sir  Robert.  He  only  wants 
that  attention  to  make  you  the  offer. 

LORD    LE     TRIMMER. 

Me  !     But  I  don't  quite  agree  with 

HARDMAN. 

Make  haste ;  or  your  neighbor,  Lord  Graspall,  will 
be  there  before  you. 

LORD    LE     TRIMMER. 

Graspall  should  not  have  it,  if  I  went  on  my  knees 
for  it.  A  thousand  thanks  to  you,  Mr.  Hardman. 

\Exit,  hastily. 

HARDMAN. 

Secured  a  waverer.  (Takes  aside  SIR  THOMAS 
TIMID.)  Sir  Thomas,  a  word  with  you.  I  am  a  plain 
man,  and  I  love  you.  There's  a  conspiracy  afloat ; 
your  name  is  suspected.  There's  been  talk  of  the 
Tower. 


64  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  m. 

SIR   THOMAS. 

Suspected !     The  Tower  !     What  am  I  to  do  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Vote  with  ministers  for  increasing  the  army,  and 
you  are  safe. 

SIR  THOMAS. 
Why,  as  to  increasing  the  army — • 

HARDMAN. 

When  a  man  is  suspected  by  the  Government, 
there  is  but  one  course  to  pursue.  For  that  Govern- 
ment he  must  vote  thick  and  thin. 

SIR  THOMAS. 

I'm  eternally  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Hardman.  The 
Tower !  What  an  escape  I  have  had  ! 

HARDMAN. 

You  may  just  give  a  hint  to  your  friends.  (SiR 
THOMAS  retires  to  the  background.)  Frightened  a 
conspirator,  and  fright  is  contagious.  Hit  them  both 
on  the  right  side  of  the  character.  (Advancing)  I 
serve  Walpole  well.  The  means  may  be  doubtful ; 
I'm  content  with  the  end.  For  at  heart  I  love  Eng- 
land and  freedom,  and  Walpole  steers  both  through 
Charybdis  and  Scylla — civil  war  and  the  Stuart.  I 
have  sent  off  my  letter ;  this  place, — he  must  give  it ; 
the  first  favor  I  have  asked.  Hope  smiles  ;  I  am  at 
peace  with  all  men.  Now  to  save  Wilmot's  father. 
(Approaches  the  box  at  ivhich  DAVID  FALLEN  is  writ- 
ing, and  stoops  down,  as  if  arranging  his  bucMe.) 
Hist !  Whatever  the  secret,  remember,  not  a  word 
save  to  me.  (Passes  down  the  stage,  and  is  eagerly 
greeted  by  various  frequenters  of  the  Coffee-house.) 


sc.  i.]        OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        6& 
Enter  LORD  LOFTUS. 

'  LORD    LOFTUS. 

Drawer,!  engage  this  box;  give  me  the  newspaper- 
So — 4  Rumored  Jacobite  plot — ' 

Entw  the  DUKE  OF  MIDDLESEX. 
DUKE. 

My  dear  lord,  I  obey  your  appointment.  But  is 
not  the  place  you  select  rather  strange  ? 

LOFTUS. 

Be  seated,  I  pray  you.  No  place  so  fit  for  our  pur- 
pose. First,  because  its  very  publicity  prevents  all 
suspicion.  We  come  to  a  coffee-house,  where  all 
ranks  and  all  parties  assemble,  to  hear  the  -news,  like 
the  rest.  And,  secondly,  we  could  scarcely  meet  our 
agent  anywhere  else.  He  is  a  Tory  pamphleteer ; 
was  imprisoned  for  our  sake  in  the  time  of  William 
and  Mary.  If  we,  so  well  known  to  be  Tories,  are 
seen  to  confer  with  him  here, 'twill  only  be  thought 
that  we  are  suggesting  some  points  in  a  pamphlet. 
But  you  have  read  the  papers ;  a  plot  is  suspected. 
You  are  sure  that  King  James  is  a  Protestant  1 

DUKE. 

Assured  of  it.  I  could  not  serve  him  if  he  were 
not.  My  ancestors  took  part  in  the  Reformation. 

LORD    LOFTUS. 

The  army's  to  be  increased. 

DUKE. 

Let  a  thing  called  a  Government  levy  its  hirelings ; 
the  true  force  of  the  country  is  with  the  Barons  of 
England.  We  proved'  that — in  the  days  of  King 
John. 


66  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  IIL 

LOFTUS  (aside). 

That's  a  long  time  ago !  'Tis  my  honor  I  obey, 
not  my  reason.  Thank  heaven,  in  affecting  to  banish 
my  Frederic  from  my  house,  I  have  kept  him  clear 
from  even  a  suspicion  that  may  attach  to  myself. 
My  gallant,  joyous  son  !  May  I  beckon  our  agent  ? 

DUKE. 

Certainly.  He  risks  his  life  for  us ;  he  shall  be 
duly  rewarded.  Let  him  sit  by  our  side. 

[LORD  LOFTUS  motions  to  DAVID  FALLEN,  loho  takes 
up  his  pamphlet  and  approaches  openly. 

DUKE. 

I  have  certainly  seen  somewhere  before  that  very 
thin  man.  Be  seated,  sir.  Honorable  danger  makes 
all  men  equal. 

FALLEN. 

No,  my  lord  Duke.  I  know  you  not.  It  is  the 
Earl  I  confer  with.  (Aside.  I  never  stood  in  his 
hall,  with  lackeys  and  porters.) 


Powers  above !  That  scare-crow  rejects  my  ac- 
quaintance ! — Portentous  !  [Stunned  and  astonished. 

LOFTUS. 

Observe,  Duke,  we  speak  in  a  sort  of  a  jargon. 
Pamphlet  means  messenger.  (To  FALLEN,  aloud.) 
Well,  Mr.  Fallen,  when  will  the  pamphlet  be  ready  ? 

FALLEN  (aloud). 

To-morrow,  my  Lord,  exactly  at  one  o'clock. 

DUKE  (still  bewildered.) 
I  don't  understand — 


sc.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         67 
LOFTUS. 

Hush !  Walpole  laughs  at  pamphlets,  but  would 
hang  messengers.  (Aloud.)  To-morrow,  not  to-day  ? 
Well,  more  time  for — 

FALLEN. 

Subscribers.  Thank  you,  my  lord.  ( Whispering.) 
Where  shall  the  messenger  meet  you  ? 

LOFTUS. 

At  the  back  of  the  Duke's  new  house  in  Bond 
Street,  there  is  a  quiet,  lone  place — 

FALLEN  (whispering). 

By  the  wall  of  Lord  Berkley's  garden  ?  I  know  it. 
The  messenger  shall  be  there.  The  signal  word, 
4  Marston  Moor.'  No  conversation  should  pass.  But 
who  brings  the  packet  ?  That's  the  first  step  of  dan- 
ger. 

DUKE  (suddenly  rousing  himself ,  and  with  dignity.) 
Then  'tis  mine,  sir,  in  right  of  my  birth. 

FALLEN  (aloud). 

I'll  attend  to  all  your  lordship's  suggestions ;  they're 
excellent,  and  will  startle  this  vile  administration. 
Many  thanks  to  your  lordship. 

[Returns  to  his  table  and  resumes  his  writing. 
Groups  point  and  murmur.  JACOB  TON- 
SON  advances. 

EASY. 

That  pestilent  scribbler,  David  Fallen !  Another 
libelous  pamphlet  as  bitter  as  the  last,  I'll  swear. 

TONSON. 

Bitter  as  gall,  sir,  I  am  proud  to  say.     Your  ser- 


63  NQT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM;  [ACT  in. 

vant ;  Jacob  Tonson,  the  bookseller, — at  your  service. 
I  advanced  a  pound  upon  it. 

EASY.    [. 

I  really  wonder  Walpole  does  not  prosecute. 

HARDMAN. 

Prosecute  ?  He  would  rather  pay  for  it.  'Tis  his 
maxim,  that  one  scurrilous  pamphlet  saves  a  country 
from  fifty  conspiracies*  You  look  surprised,  gentle- 
men:  why,  I  remember,  three  months  ago,  when' our 
friend  Mr.  Easy  here  was  teased  with  the  nettle-rash, 
that  his  doctor  said — '  Don't  complain,  Mr.  Easy,  a 
strong  constitution  throws  out  an  eruption ;  a  weak 
one  would  have  smoldered  away  in  a  fever.'  Disaf- 
fection when  printed  is  only  a  nettle-rash,  and  the  life 
of  nations  is  saved  when  disease  is  thrown  out  on  the 
surface. 

EASY. 

He  knows  I  had  the  nettle-rash  !  Wonderful  man, 
knows  every  thing ! 

DUKE. 

I  will  meet  you  in  the  Mall  to-morrow,  a  quarter 
after  one  precisely.  We  may  go  now  ?  Powers  above 
— his  mind's  distracted — he  walks  out  before  me  ! 

LOFTUS  (draining  back  at  the  door.) 
I  follow  you,  Duke. 

DUKE. 

My  dear  friend — if  you  really  insist  on  it  ?  [Ex- 
eunt, bowing. 

HARDMAN. 

Mr.  Easy,  I'll  bet  you  ten  guineas  I  find  out  what 
those  Tories  told  David  Fallen  to  put  in  his  pamphlet. 


so.  ij      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         69 

EASY, 

Well,  you  are  certain  to  win,  but  I  can  afford  to 
lose  ;  .  and  I  should  like  to  know.  Done  ! 

HARDMAN. 

;l)*awer— a  bottle  of  Claret — at  this  table. 
[Bows  to  FALLEN  and  sits  down  ;  FALLEN  scowling 
at  him. 

EASY. 

What  a  clever  imperturbable  dog  it  is — -so  thorough- 
ly practical !  Finds  out  every  thing,  that  Hard  man  ! 
Sure  to  rise,  eh  ! 

[Coffee-house  frequenters   evince    their  admiration 
and  assent. 

HARDMAN  as  the  Drawer  places  the  wine,  &c.  on  the 

table. 

Let  me  offer  you  a  glass  of  wine,  Mr.  Fallen — 
(Aside.)  well?— 

[FALLEN,  who  has  been  writing,  pushes  the  paper 
toward  him. 

HARDMAN  (reading). 

"At  one  to-morrow— the  wall  by  Lord  Berkely's 
— Mars  ton  Moor— The  Duke  in  person" — So  !  We 
must  save  these  men.  I  will  call  on  you  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  concert  the  means. 

FALLEN. 

Yes,  save,  not  destroy,  these  enthusiasts.  Fin  re- 
signed to  the  name  of  a  hireling — not  to  that  of  a 
butcher! 

HARDMAN. 

You  serve  both  Whig  and  Jacobite ;  do  you  care 
then  for  either  ? 


70  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  m. 

FALLEN. 

Sneering  politician  !  what  has  either  cared  for  me  ? 
I  entered  the  world,  devoted  heart  and  soul  to  two 
causes — the  throne  of  the  Stuart,  the  glory  of  Letters. 
I  saw  them  both  as  a  poet.  My  father  left  me  no  her- 
itage but  loyalty  and  learning.  He  sold  all  he  had  to 
levy  troops  for  King  Charles,  and  buried  his  gold  in 
the  red  field  of  Marston  Moor.  Charles  the  Second 
praised  my  verse,  and  I  starved ;  James  the  Second 
praised  my  prose,  and  I  starved ;  the  reign  of  King 
William — I  passed  that  in  prison  ! 

HARDMAN. 

But  the  ministers  of  Anne  were  gracious  to  writers. 

FALLEN. 

And  offered  me  a  pension  to  belie  my  past  life,  and 
write  Odes  on  the  Queen  who  had  dethroned  her  own 
father.  I  was  not  then  disenchanted — I  refused. 
That's  years  ago.  If  I  starved,  I  had  fame.  Now 
came  my  worst  foes,  my  own  fellow-writers.  What  is 
fame  but  a  fashion  ?  A  jest  upon  Grub  Street,  a 
rhyme  from  young  Pope,  could  jeer  a  score  of  day 
laborers  like  me  out  of  their  last  consolation.  Time  and 
hunger  tame  all.  I  could  still  starve  myself ;  I  have 
six  children  at  home — they  must  live. 

HARDMAN. 

This  man  has  genius — he  might  have  been  a  grace 
to  his  age.  I'm  perplexed ;  Sir  Robert 

FALLEN. 

Disdains  Letters — I've  renounced  them.  He  pays 
services  like  these.  Well — I  serve  him.  Leave  me ; 
go! 

HARDMAN  (rising). 

Not  so  bad  as  he  seems — another  side  to  the  char- 


sc.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        71 

acter  :  this  moves  me ;  I've  been  a  writer  myself.  But 
the  remedy  ?  A  state  may  but  humble  by  alms  ;  a 
minister  corrupt  by  a  bribe :  what  Patron  then  for 
Letters  ! — The  public  ? — yes,  for  the  Author,  whose 
talents  the  Public  may  chance  to  appreciate.  And  for 
those  who,  with  toils  as  severe,  but  with  genius  less 
shaped  to  the  taste  of  the  many,  can  win  not  the  ear 
of  the  day,  why  perhaps  in  some  far  distant  age,  when 
eno'  of  the  strong  have  dropped  to  death  broken-heart- 
ed, and  eno'  of  the  weak  (bowed  down  by  the  tyrant 
Necessity)  have  veiled  in  shame  and  despair  the  eyes 
that  once  looked  to  the  stars  ;  these  rival  children  of 
light  may  learn  at  last,  that  the  tie  they  now  rend 
should  be  the  bond  to  unite  them,  and  help  one  anoth- 
er. I  have  lost  the  bet,  Mr.  Easy. 

EASY  (pocketing  the  money). 

Hard  man's  not  so  clever  as  I  thought  he  was,  by 

ten  guineas.        [Coffee-house  frequenters  evince  their 

assent,  but  no  longer  their  admiration. 

Enter  DRAWER,  with  a  letter  to  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

From  Wai  pole !     Now  then  !  my  fate — my  love — 
my  fortunes ! 

EASY  (peeping  over  HARDMAN'S  shoulder). 
He  has  got  a  letter  from  the  Prime  Minister,  marked 
'private  and  confidential.'     (Great  agitation)     After 
all,  he  is  a  very  clever  fellow. 

[Coffee-house  frequenters  evince  the  readiest 
assent,  and  the  liveliest  admiration. 

HARDMAN  (advancing  and  reading  the  letter). 
"My  dear  Hardman, — Extremely  sorry;    in  these 
times  Government  must  strengthen  itself  among  the 


72  I     NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iit 

doubtful.  Place  in  question  absolutely  wanted  to  con- 
ciliate some  noble  family  otherwise  dangerous.*  An- 
other time,  more  fortunate.  Fully  sensible  of  your 
valuable  services.  ROBERT  WALPOLE." 

—.Refused!  Let  him' look  to  himself !  I  will — I  will 
^Alas !  he  is  needed  by  my  country;  and  I 'am 
powerless  against  him.  [Setits  himself. 

Enter  WILMOT  knd  SOFTHEAD. 

WILMOT. 

Drawer !  a  private  room — covers  for  six — dinner  in 
an  hour  If  And — drawer !  Tell  Mr.  Tonson  not  to 
go  yet.  Softhead,  we'll  have  an  orgy  to-night,  worthy 
the  days  of  King  Charles  the  Second.  What's  your 
favorite  wine  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

For  Heaven's  sake,  not  that  diabolical  Burgundy ! 

WILMOT. 

Disloyal  to  Burgundy !  the  only  wine  now  in 
fashion,-r-unless,  by-the-by,  you  prefer  aqua-fortis? 
Drawer ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

No — no — no !     Let  it  be  Burgundy  !     Homicide  ! 

WILMOT. 
Just  as  you  like.     Let  me  see— there'll  be  six  of  us 

*  As  Walpole  was  little  inclined  to  make  it  a  part  of  his 
policy  to  conciliate  those  whose  opposition  might  'be  danger- 
ous, while  he  was  so  fond  of  power  as  to  be  jealous  of  talent 
not  wholly  subservient  to  him,  the  reluctance  to  promote  Mr. 
Hardman  implied  in  the  insincerity  of  his  excuse,  may  be  sup- 
posed to  arise  from  his  knowledge  of  that  gentleman's  restless 
ambition,  and  determined  self-will. 

f  It  was  not  the  custom  at  Will's  to  serve  dinners;  and  the 
exception  in  favor  of  my  Lord  Wilmot  proves  his  influence  as 
a  man  d-la-mode. 


SO.  ij  ...  OK,  MA:ST  SIDES.  TO  A  CHARACTER,         73 

— a  dozen  to  each.  Drawer, — -send  to  Lockett's  for 
six  dozen  of  Burgundy— other  wines  in  proportion.  By 
the  way,  Softhead,  you  smoke,  of  course  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

Smoke !  that  filthy  tobacco !  Not  L  Tried  it  once 
at  the  Twopenny  Club,*  and  felt  as  if  on  board  ship, 
witk  the  sea  rolling  mountains  L  The  beastliest 

thing 

WILMOT. 

Not  smoke,  and  pretend  ta  b&  a  man  d-la-mode  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

Come,  come,  that's  too  good !  All  the  fish  women 
in  Billingsgate  smoke — seen  them  myself,  and  heard 
them,  too — railing,  abusive,  impudent  creatures  ! 

WILMOT. 

Of  course,  they  are.  The  impudence  of  Billingsgate 
gives  the  mode  to  St.  James's !  only  here,  names  are 
different.  There  abuse, .  and  here  scandal.  There 
railing, — here  wit. 

SOFTHEAD. 

As  for  wit,  I'm  a  match  for  the  best  of  you  ! — but 
tobacco 

WILMOT. 

Is  to  wits  the  ambrosia.  See,  there  Mr.  Addison 
smokes,  and  writes  "  Cato."  See,  there  Mr.  Pulteney 
makes  verses  like  Martial,  speeches  like  Cicero,  and 
smokes — like  Mount  Etna;  while  the  great  Duke  of 
.Wharton,  who  is  the  duke  among  wits,  and  the  wit 
among  dukes,  has  just  written  an  Ode  upon  Pigtail,  in 
imitation  of  Pindar ! — Drawer,  don't  forget  pipes  and 
tobacco !  the  strongest  Virginia  ! 

*  Perhaps  the  club  thus  designated  in  the  "  Spectator." 


74  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  m. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Pindar  !  What1  s  that,  I  wonder !  Something  more 
demoniac  than  all.  Stop !  If  the  Duke  of  Wharton 
is  here,  can't  you  present  me  to  him  ?  You  see  I  did 
not  get  eno'  of  the  other  duke  this  morning. 

WILMOT. 

Not  eno'  of  him  !  You  are  a  cormorant  of  dukes, 
and  deserve  to  be  haunted  by  one. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Hardman's  very  words !  Haunted  by  a  duke.  No 
such  good  luck. 

WILMOT  (who  has  been  shaking  hands,  and  talking 
apart  with  Lord  Strongbow,  Sir  John  Bruin,  and 
Colonel  Flint ;  showing,  by  his  by-play,  that  he  lets 
them  into  his  plot  against  Softhead  and  Easy). 
Softhead,  I  must  present  you  to  our  boon  compan- 
ions ; — my  friend,  Lord  Strongbow  (hardest  drinker  in 
England) ;  Sir  John  Bruin,  best  boxer  in  England — 
threshed  Figg;    quarrelsome,   but   pleasant:  Colonel 
Flint — finest  gentleman  in  England,  and,  out  and  out, 
the  best  fencer ;  mild  as  a  lamb,  but  can't  bear  contra- 
diction, and,  on  the  point  of  honor,  inexorable.     Now, 
for  the  sixth.     Ha,  Mr.  Easy !     (I  ask  him  to  serve 
you.)     Easy,  your  hand!     So  charmed  that  you've 
come.     You'll  dine  with  us — given  up  five  invitations 
on  purpose.     Do — sans  ceremonie. 

EASY. 

Why,  really,  my  Lord,  a  plain  sober  man  like  me 
would  be  out  of  place 

WILMOT. 

If  that's  all,  never  fear.  Live  with  us,  and  we'll 
make  another  man  of  you,  Easy  ! 


so.  I.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         75 


What  captivating  familiarity  !  Well,  I  can  not  re- 
sist your  lordship.  (Strutting  down  the  room,  and 
speaking  to  his  acquaintances.)  Yes,  my  friend 
Wilmot — Lord  Wilmot — will  make  me  dine  with 
him.  Pleasant  man,  my  friend  Wilmot.  We  dine 
together  to-day. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Easy  invited  ?  La !  how  flattered  he  looks, — 
"  asked  to  serve  me,"  ha ! — I  understand — such  a 
sober,  steady  fellow  :  never  smokes,  never  drinks,  and 
so  despises  those  who  imitate  others,  that  he'll  keep 
me  company  in  shirking  that  villainous  Burgundy,  and 
eschewing  that  damnable  pigtail.  Very  considerate  in 
Fred. — He's  not  so  bad  as  he  seems. 

[SOFTHEAD  retires  to  the  background  with  the  other 
invited  guests;  but,  trying  hard  to  escape  SIR 
JOHN  BRUIN,  the  boxer,  and  COL.  FLINT,  the 
fencer,  fastens  himself  on  EASY  with  an  air  of 
patronage. 

WILMOT. 

Ah,  Mr.  Tonson.  (Aside.  Now  to  serve  the  dear 
Duke.)  You  have  not  yet  bought  the  Memoir  of  a 
late  Man  of  Quality  ? 

TONSON. 

Not  yet,  my  Lord ;  just  been  trying ;  hard  work. 
(Wipes  his  forehead.)  But  the  person  who  has  it  is 
luckily  very  poor ;  one  of  my  own  authors. 


WILMOT. 

His  eye  turns  to  that  forlorn-looking  specter  I  saw 
him  tormenting.  That  must  be  one  of  your  authors ; 
he  looks  so  lean,  Mr.  Tonson  ? 


76  NOT  SO  BAD  AS.  WE  SEEtt  ;  [ACT  nt 

TONSON. 

Hush !  That's  the  man  ;  made  a  noise  m  his  day  ; 
David  Fallen. 

WILMOT. 

David  Fallen,  whose  bopks?  yvhen  I5was;  but  a  school- 
boy,  made  me  first  take  to  readirig, — not  ^taskwork, 
but  pleasure.  How  much  I  do  owe  him  ! 

f\Bows  very  low  to  Mr.  Fallen. 

.  .    ,,     ..,  ,       TQNSON;    w  |     ffi  M   • 

My  Lord  bows  very  low!  Oh,  if  your  lordship 
knows  Mr.  Fallen,  pray  tell  him  not  to  stand  in  his 
own  light.  I  would  give  him  a  vast  sum  for  the  Me- 
moir,— -two  hundred  guineas  ;  on  my  honor  I  would  ! 
( Whispering^)  Scandal,  my  Lord ;  sell  like  wild-fire. 
— I  say,  Mr.  Hardman,  I  observed  you  speak  to  poor 
David.  Can't  you  help  me  here  ?  (  Whispering^)  Lord 
Henry  de  Mowbray's  Private  Memoirs  !  Fallen  has 
them,  and  refuses  to  sell.  Love  Adventures ;  nuts  for 
the  public.  Only  just  go.t  a  peep  myself.  But  such 
a  confession  about  the  beautiful  Lady  Morland. 

HARDMAN. 

Hang  Lady  Morland ! 

TONSON. 

Besides — shows  up  his  own  brother !  Jacobite 
family  secrets.  Such  a  card  for  the  Whigs  ! 

HARDMAN. 

Confound  the  Whigs  !     What  do  I  care  ? 

WILMOT.       ^ 

vEll  see  to  it,  Tonson.  Give  me  Mr.  Fallen's  private 
address. 


sc.  i.J       OR,  MANY  SID^S  TO  A  CHARACTER.         77 

TONSOJST..    <  „     •; 

But  pray  be  discreet,  my  Lord.  If  that  knave 
Curll  should  get  wind  of  the  scent,  he'd  try  to  spoil 
my  market  with  my  own  author.  The  villain ! 

WILMOT. 

"'\Aside.  Curll  ?  ^Vhy,  I've  miraiqk'd  Curll  so  ex- 
actly, that  Pope  himself  was  deceived,  and,  stifling 
with  rage,  ordered  me  out  of  the  room.  I  have  it ! 
Mr.  Curll  shall  call  upon  Fallen  the  first  thing  in  the 
morning,  and  outbid  Mr.  Tonson.)  Thank  you,  sir. 
(Taking  the  address.)  Moody,  my  Hardman?  some 
problem  in  political  ethics  ? 

II A  RDM  AN. 

Ay,  the  oldest  of  all  ! — the  grand  social  beehive ; 
the  toil  and  the  idleness — the  bee  and  the  drone. 

WILMOT. 

And  thinking,  no  doubt,  that  the  bee  has  the  best 
of  it !  We  may  yet  toil  together,  my  Hardman. 

HARDMAN. 

This,  in  you,  is  new  language  and  noble  ! 

WILMOT. 

It  comes  from  Love,  the  ennobler !  You  turn  away, 
— you  have  a  grief  you'll  not  tell  me — why,  this  morn- 
ing I  asked  you  a  favor  ;  from  that  moment  I  had  a 
right  to  your  confidence,  for  a  favor  degrades  when  it 
does  not  come  from  a  friend. 

HARDMAN. 

You  charm,  you  subdue  me,  and  I  feel  for  once  how 
necessary  to  man  is  the  sympathy  of  another.  Your 
hand,  Wilmot.  This  is  secret— I,  too,  then  presume 


78  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  m. 

to  love.  One  above  me  in  fortune;  it  may  be  in 
birth.  But  a  free  state  lifts  those  it  employs  to  a  par 
with  its  nobles.  A  post  in  the  Treasury  of  such 
nature  is  vacant ;  I  have  served  the  minister,  men  say, 
with  some  credit ;  and  I  asked  for  the  gift  without 
shame — 'twas  my  due.  Wai  pole  needs  the  office,  not 
for  reward  to  the  zealous,  but  for  bribe  to  the  doubtful. 
See,  (giving  letter)  "  Noble  family  to  conciliate."  Ah, 
the  drones  have  the  honey  ! 

WILMOT  (reading  and  returning  the  letter). 
And  had  you  this  post,  you  think  you  could  gain 
the  lady  you  love  ? 

HARDMAN. 

At  least  it  would  have  given  me  courage  to  ask. 
Well,  well,  well, — a  truce  with  my  egotism, — you  at 
least,  my  fair  Wilmot,  fair  in  form,  fair  in  fortune,  you 
need  fear  no  rebuff  where  you  place  your  affections. 

WILMOT. 

Why,  the  lady's  father  sees  only  demerits  in  what 
you  think  my  advantages. 

HARDMAN. 

You  mistake,  I  know  the  man  much  better  than  you 
do ;  and  look,  even  now  he  is  gazing  upon  you  as 
fondly  as  if  on  the  coronet  that  shall  blazon  the  coach 
of  my  lady,  his  daughter. 

WILMOT. 
Gazing  on  me  ? — where  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Yonder — Ha  !  is  it  not  Mr.  Easy,  whose 


sc.  ij       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         79 

WILMOT. 

Mr.  Easy !  you  too  taken  in  !  Hark,  secret  for  se- 
cret— 'tis  Lucy  Thornside  I  love. 

HARDMAN. 

You — stun  me ! 

WILMOT. 

But  what  a  despot  Love  is,  allows  no  thought,  not 
its  slave !  They  told  me  below,  that  my  father  had 
been  here  ;  have  you  seen  him  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Ay. 

WILMOT. 

And  sounded  ? 

HARDMAN. 

No — better  than  that — -I  have  taken  precautions,  I 
must  leave  you  now  ;  you  shall  know  the  result  to-mor- 
row afternoon.  (Aside.  Your  father's  life  in  these 
hands— his  ransom  what  I  please  to  demand. — Ah, 
joy  !  I  am  myself  once  again.  Fool  to  think  man 
could  be  my  friend  !  Ah,  joy  !  born  but  for  the  strife 
and  the  struggle,  it  is  only  'mid  foes  that  my  invention 
is  quickened !  Half-way  to  my  triumph,  now  that  I 
know  the  rival  to  vanquish  !)  (To  FALLEN.  Engage 
the  messenger  at  once,  forget  not.  Nothing  else  till  I 
see  you.)  (To  WILMOT.)  Your  hand  once  again. 
To-day  I'm  your  envoy ;  (Aside :  to-morrow  your 
master.)  .  [Exit. 

WILMOT. 

The  friendliest  man  that  ever  lived  since  the  days 
of  Damon  and  Pythias  ;  I'm  a  brute  if  I  don't  serve 
him  in  return.  To  lose  the  woman  he  loves  for  want 
of  this  pitiful  place.  Saint  Cupid  forbid  !  "  Conciliate 
some  noble  family,"  Walpole  has  been  trying  these  two 


80 


years  to  conciliate  Fred  Wilmot.  Knows  there  are  at 
least  six  young  puppies  who  would  vote  as  I  asked 
'em  ;  just  to  be  brought  into  fashion.  But  I  can't  sell 
myself.  Let  me  consider  !  Many  sides  to  a  character 
—  I  think  I  could  here  hit  the  right  one  better  than 
Hard  man.  Ha,  ha  !  Excellent  !  My  Murillo  !  I'll  not 
sell  myself,  but  I'll  buy  the  prime  minister  !  Excuse 
me,  my  friends  ;  urgent  business  ;  I  shall  be  back  ere 
the  dinner  hour  ;  the  room  is  prepared.  Drawer, 
show  in  these  gentlemen  :  Hardman  shall  have  his 
place  and  his  wife,  and  I'll  bribe  the  arch-briber  !  Ho  ! 
my  lackeys,  my  coach,  there  !  Ha,  ha  !  bribe  the  prime 
minister  !  There  never  was  such  a  fellow  as  I  am  for 
crime  and  audacity.  \Exit  WILMOT. 

COLONEL  FLINT. 

Your  arm,  Mr.  Softhead. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Thank  you,  I'll  follow  - 

COLONEL  FLINT  (curling  his  mustache,  and  one  hand 

on  his  sword-hilt). 

Am  I  to  understand  that  the  arm  of  Colonel  Flint 
is  disdained  by  Mr.  Softhead  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

Disdained  ;  which  arm  —  left  arm  —  right  arm  ? 

COLONEL    FLINT. 

Left,  sir,  the  sword  side;  dangerous  side  of  my 
character,  sir  !  I  ought  to  have  observed,  that,  in 
points  of  honor,  I'm  touchy  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

And  Fred  leaves  me  in  the  very  paws  of  this  tiger  ! 

[Exeunt. 


so.  ii.]       OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.       81 

SCENE   II. 
The  Library  in  SIR  GEOFFREY'S  House. 

Enter  SIR  GEOFFREY. 

I'm  followed  !  I'm  dogged !  I  go  out  for  a  walk 
unsuspiciously;  and  behind  creeps  a  step,  pit,  pat; 
feline  and  stealthy ;  I  turn,  not  a  soul  to  be  seen — I 
walk  on  ;  pit,  pat,  stealthy  and  feline  ;  turn  again ; 
and  lo !  a  dark  form  like  a  phantom,  muffled  and 
masked — just  seen  and  just  gone.  Ouf !  The  plot 
thickens  around  me — I  can  struggle  no  more. 

\_SinJcs  into  a  seat. 

Enter  LUCY. 
— A  step ;  ha,  again  ;  who  is  there  ? 

LUCY. 
But  your  child,  my  dear  father. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Child,  ugh  !     What  do  you  want  ? 

LUCY. 

Ah,  speak  to  me  gently.  It  is  your  heart  that  I 
want! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Heart — I  suspect  I'm  to  be  coaxed  out  of  some- 
thing ! — Eh ;  eh  !  Why,  she's  weeping.  What  ails 
thee,  poor  darling  ? 

LUCY. 

So  kind.  Now  I  have  courage  to  tell  you.  I  was 
sitting  alone,  and  I  thought  to  myself — *  my  father 
often  doubts  of  me — doubts  of  all' — 


82  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  HI. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh — what  now  ? 

LUCY. 

'Yet  his  true  nature  is  generous — it  could  not 
always  have  been  so.  Perhaps  in  old  times  he  has 
been  deceived  where  he  loved.  Ah,  his  Lucy,  at 
least,  shall  never  deceive  him.'  So  I  rose  and  listened 
for  your  footstep  —  I  heard  it  —  and  I  am  here — 
here,  on  your  bosom,  my  own  father ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

You'll  never  deceive  me  —  right,  right — go  on, 
pretty  one,  go  on.  (Aside.  If  she  should  be  my 
child  after  all  ?) 

LUCY. 

There  is  one  who  has  come  here  lately — one  who 
appears  to  displease  you-— one  whom  you've  been  led 
to  believe  comes  not  on  my  account,  but  my  friend's. 
It  is  not  so,  my  father ;  it  is  for  me  that  he  comes. 
Let  him  come  no  more — let  me  see  him  no  more — 
for — for — I  feel  that  his  presence  might  make  me  too 
happy — and  that  would  grieve  you,  O  my  father ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

(Aside.  She  must  be  my  child !  Bless  her  !)  I'll 
never  doubt  you  again.  I'll  bite  out  my  tongue  if  it 
says  a  harsh  word  to  you.  I'm  not  so  bad  as  I  seem. 
Grieve  me  ? — yes,  it  would  break  my  heart.  You 
don't  know  these  gay  courtiers — I  do ! — Knew  just 
such  another — they  have  no  honor — no  mercy — not 
one  of  them — tut — tut — tut — don't  cry.  What  shall 
I  say  to  console  her  ? — Oh,  he's  not  the  only  man  in 
the  world — I'll  find  you  another,  who  will  love  you 
in  earnest ;  who  will  make  you  happy ; — worthy, 
excellent  man  !  Why,  she's  crying  worse  than  before  ! 


sc.  ii.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        83 

HARDMAN'S  voice  without, 
Is  Sir  Geoffrey  at  home  ? 

[LucY  starts  up.  As  HARDMAN  enters,  a  figure 
draped  and  masked  passes  by  the  open  window 
and  looks  in. — Twilight — during  the  preceding 
dialogue  in  the  scene,  the  stage  has  gradually 
darkened. 

LUCY. 

My  heart  is  less  heavy  !  Grief  does  not  weigh  like 
deceit ! 

HARDMAN. 

Excuse  this  late  hour.  Ah — what  is  that  yonder  ? 
— Look  !  [ The  figure  disappears. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

What !— where  ? 

HARDMAN. 

At  the  window.  It  is  gone.  Nay,  but  an  idler's 
curiosity.  (SiR  GEOFFREY  runs  to  the  window  and 
looks  out.) — I  have  not  very  long  since  left  my  Lord 
Wilmot.  Hey  !  Did  you  ask  where  ? 

LUCY  (faintly). 

No. 

HARDMAN. 

I  thought  you  did.  'Twas  at  his  haunt  in  a  coffee- 
house ;  preparing  for  what  my  Lord  calls  an  orgy. 

{Exit  LUCY. 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (catching  hold  of  him  which  prevents 

his  observing  Lucy  as  she  goes  out.) 
I  don't  see  any  one. 

HARDMAN. 

A  chance  passer-by,  I  assure  you.     Sir  Geoffrey, 


84  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  m. 

you  were  deceived  ;  Lord  Wilmot  has  no  thought  of 
Mr.  Easy's  daughter. 

SIR    GEOFFREYv 

He ! — he ! — I  know  that — no  one  could  long  de- 
ceive 'me  !  Lucy  has  told  me  all,  and  begged  me  not 
to  let  him  come  here  again. 

HARDMAN  (joyfully). 

She  has !  Then  she  does  not  love  this  Lord  Wil- 
mot? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Love ;  nonsense !  She  has  not  seen  him  six  times. 
Can't  say  how  it  might  be  if  she  saw  more  of  him  ; 
but  that  will  not  be.  It  is  not  so  hard  to  say  "  Get 
you  gone"  to  a  suitor  ! 

HARDMAN. 

But  the  arts  of  corruption  —  the  emissary — the 
letter — the  go-between — the  spy  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Arts !  Spy  !  Ha !  if  Easy  was  right  after  all.  If 
those  flowers  thrown  in  at  the  window ;  the  watch 
from  that  house  in  the  lane ;  the  masked  figure  that 
followed  me ;  all  bode  designs  but  on  Lucy 

HARDMAN. 

Flowers  have  been  thrown  in  at  the  window  ? 
You've  been  watched !  A  masked  figure  has  followed 
you?  One  question  more.  All  this  since  Lord  Wil- 
mot knew  Lucy  ? 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Yes,  to  be  sure  ;  how  blind  I  have  been ! 

[ Masked  figure  reappears. 


so.  in.]     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        85 
HARDMAN. 

7Twas  a  face  with  the  vizard  women  wear  now-a- 
days,  that  I  saw  at  the  window.  Ha !  Look  again. 
Let  me  track  this  mystery  (Figure  disappears):  and 
if  it  conceal  a  scheme  of  Lord  Wilmot's  against  your 
daughter's  honor,  it  shall  need  not  your  sword  to  pro- 
tect her.  [Leaps  from  the  window. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

What  does  he  mean  ?  Not  my  sword  ?  'Zounds ! 
he  don't  think  of  his  own  !  If  he  does,  I'll  discard 
him.  I'm  not  a  coward,  to  let  other  men  risk  their 
lives  in  my  quarrel.  Served  as  a  volunteer  under 
Marlbro',  at  Blenheim ;  and  marched  on  a  cannon  ! 
Whatever  my  faults,  no  one  can  say  I'm.  not  brave. 
(Starting.)  Ha!  bless  my  life!  What  is  that?  I 
thought  I  heard  something — I'm  all  on  a  tremble ! 
Who  the  duse  can  be  brave  when  he's  surrounded  by 
poisoners — followed  by  phantoms ;  with  an  ugly  black 
face  peering  in  at  his  window  ? — Hodge  !  come  and 
bar  up  the  shutters — lock  the  door — let  out  the  house- 
dog !  Hodge  !  Hodge !  Where  on  earth  is  that 
scoundrel?  [Exit. 


SCENE  III. 

The  Streets — in  perspective  an  Alley  inscribed  JDeadman's 
Lane — a  large,  old-fashioned,  gloomy  'House  in  the  Cor- 
ner, with  the  door  on  the  stage,  above  which  is  impaneled 
a  sign  of  the  Crown  and  Portcullis.  Enter  a  Female 
Figure,  masked — looks  round,  pauses,  and  enters  the  door. 

Enter  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

Ha !  enters  that  house.     I  have  my  hand  on  the 


86  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  in. 

clew !     Some  pretext  to  call  on  the  morrow,  and  1 
shall  quickly  unravel  the  skein.  [Exit. 

GOODENOUGH  EASY  (singing  without). 

"  Old  King  Cole 
Was  a  jolly  old  soul, 
And  a  jolly  old  soul  was  he 

[Entering,  with  LORD  WILMOT  and  SOFTHEAD,  EASY, 
his  derss  disordered,  a  pipe  in  his  mouth,  in  a 
state  of  intoxication,  hilarious,  musical,  and  ora- 
torical— SOFTHEAD  in  a  state  of  intoxication,  ab- 
ject, remorseful,  and  lachrymose — WILMOT  sober, 
but  affecting  inebriety. 

He  called  for  his  pipe,  and  he  called  for  his  bowl, 
And  he  called  for  his  fiddlers  three !" 

WILMOT. 

Ha,  ha !  I  imagine  myself  like  Bacchus,  between 
Silenus  and  his — ass  ! 

EASY. 

"Wilmot,  you're  a  jolly  old  soul,  and  I'll  give  you 
my  Barbara. 

SOFTHEAD  (blubbering). 

Hegh !  hegh  !  hegh  !  Betrayed  in  my  tenderest 
affection. 

WILMOT. 

My  dear  Mr.  Easy,  I've  told  you  already  that  I'm 
pre-engaged. 

EASY. 

Pre-engaged !  that's  devilish  unhandsome !  But 
now  I  look  at  you,  you  do  seem  double :  and  if  you're 
double,  you're  not  single  ;  and  if  you're  not  single, 
why,  you  can't  marry  Barbara,  for  that  would  be  big- 
amy !  But  I  don't  care  ;  you're  a  jolly  old  soul ! 


BO.  in.]     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         87 

WILMOT. 

Not  a  bit  of  it.  Quite  mistaken,  Mr.  Easy.  But  if 
you  want  for  a  son-in-law,  a  jolly  old  soul — there  he  is ! 

SOFTHEAD  (bursting  out  afresh). 
Hegh!  hegh!  hegh! 

EASY. 

Hang  a  lord  !  What's  a  lord  ?  I'm  a  respectable, 
independent  family  Briton  ! — Softhead,  give  us  your 
fist :  you're  a  jolly  old  soul,  and  you  shall  have  Bar- 
bara ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Hegh  !  hegh !  I'm  not  a  jolly  old  soul.  I'm  a 
sinful,  wicked,  miserable  monster.  Hegh  !  hegh  ! 

EASY. 

What's  a  monster  ?  I  like  a  monster !  My  girl 
shan't  go  a-begging  any  farther.  You're  a  precious 
good  fellow,  and  your  father's  an  alderman,  and  has 
got  a  great  many  votes,  and  I'll  stand  for  the  City : 
and  you  shall  have  my  Barbara. 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  don't  deserve  her,  Mr.  Easy ;  I  don't  deserve  such 
an  angel !  I'm  not  precious  good.  Lords  and  tigers 
have  corrupted  my  innocence.  Hegh  !  hegh  !  I'm 
as  sick  as  a  dog,  and  I'm  going  to  be  hanged. 

WATCH  (without). 

Half-past  eight  o'clock  ! 

i 

WILMOT. 

Come  along,  gentlemen ;  we  shall  have  the  watch 
on  us ! 


88  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  '  [ACT  in. 


EASY. 

"  And  the  bands  that  guard  the  City, 
Cried — '  Rebels,  yield  or  die  !' " 

Enter  Watchman. 

WATCHMAN. 

Half -past  eight  o'clock  ! — Move  on !  move  on  ! 

EASY. 

Order,  order !  Mr.  Vice  and  gentlemen,  here's  a 
stranger  disturbing  the  harmony  of  the  evening.  I 
knock  him  down  for  a  song.  (Seizes  the  Watchman's 
rattle.)  Half-past  Eight,  Esq.,  on  his  legs  !  Sing,  sir  ;' 
I  knock  you  down  for  a  song. 

WATCHMAN. 

Help!  help!     Watch!  watch! 

[Cries  within,  « Watch!" 

SOFTHEAD. 

Hark  !  the  officers  of  justice  !  My  wicked  career  is 
approaching  its  close  ! 

EASY  (who  has  got  astride  on  the  Watchman's  head, 
and  persuades  himself  that  the  rest  of  the 
Watchman  is  the  table). 

Mr.  Vice  and  gentlemen,  the  toast  of  the  evening 

what's  the  matter  with  the  table  1  'Tis  bobbing 

up  and  down.  The  table's  drunk !  Order  for  the 
Chair — you  table,  you  !  (Thumps  the  Watchman 
with  the  rattle.)  Fill  your  glasses — a  bumper  toast. 
Prosperity  to  the  City  of  London — nine  times  nine — 
Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  ( Waves  the  rattle  over  his  head  ; 
the  rattle  springs,  and  makes  all  the  noise  of  which 
rattles  are  capable.)  (Amazed.)  Why,  the  Chair- 
man's hammer  is  as  drunk  as  the  table ! 


SC.  III.] 

Enter  Watchmen  with  staves,  springing  their  rattles. 

WILMOT  (drawing  SOFTHEAD  off  into  a  corner). 
Hold  your  tongue — they'll  not  see  us  here  ! 

WATCHMAN  (escaping). 

Murder ! — murder  ! — this  is  the  fellow  ! — most  des- 
perate ruffian. 

[EASY  is  upset  by  the  escape  of  the  Watchman,  and, 
after  some  effort  to  remove  him  otherwise,  the 
Guardians  of  the  Night  hoist  him  on  their 
shoulders. 

EASY. 

I'm  being  chaired  member  for  the  City !  Freemen 
and  Electors  !  For  this  elevation  to  the  post  of  mem- 
ber for  your  metropolis,  I  return  you  my  heartfelt 
thanks  !  Steady  there,  steady  !  The  proudest  day 
of  my  life. — Tis  the  boast  of  the  British  Constitution 
that  a  plain,  sober  man  like  me  may  rise  to  honors  the 
most  exalted  !  Long  live  the  British  Constitution. 
Hip — hip — hurrah  ! 

[Is  carried  off  waving  the  rattle.     SOFTHEAD 
continues  to  weep  in  speechless  sorrow. 

WILMOT  (coming forth). 

Ha !  ha !  ha  ! — My  family  Briton  being  chaired  for 
the  City. !— Stand  up ;  how  do  you  feel  1 

SOFTHEAD. 

Feel !    I'm  a  ruin  ! 

WILMOT. 

Faith,  I  never  saw  a  more  mournful  one  !  It  must 
be  near  Sir  Geoffrey's  ! — Led  them  here — on  my  way 
to  this  sepulchral  appointment,  Deadman's  Lane ! 


90  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  in. 

Where  the  plague  can  it  be  ?  Ha !  the  very  place. 
Looks  like  it !  How  get  rid  of  Softhead. — Ha,  ha  !  I 
have  it.  Softhead,  awake !  the  night  has  begun — the 
time  for  monsters  and  their  prey.  Now  will  I  lift  the 
dark  vail  from  the  mysteries  of  London.  Behold  that 
house,  Deadman's  Lane ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Deadman's  Lane  !     I'm  in  a  cold  perspiration  ! 

WILMOT. 

In  that  house — under  the  antique  sign  of  Crown 
and  Portcullis — are  such  delightful  horrors  at  work  as 
would  make  the  wigs  of  holy  men  stand  on  end  !  The 
adventure  is  dangerous,  but  deliriously  exciting.  Into 
that  abode  which  woman  were  lost  did  she  enter, 
which  man  is  oft  hanged  when  he  leaves — into  that 
abode  will  we  plunge,  and  gaze,  like  Macbeth,  "  on 
deeds  without  a  name." 

SOFTHEAD  (in  a  paroxysm  of  terror  and  ivoe). 
Hegh  !  hegh !  hegh  !     I  won't  gaze  on  deeds  with- 
out a  name !     I  won't  plunge  into  dead  men's  abodes ! 
I'll  go  home  to  my  mother !     Hegh !  hegh !  hegh  ! 
Let  me  go — let  me  go.  [Exit. 

WILMOT. 

Ha,  ha !  I've  at  least  kept  my  promise  to  Barbara. 
I  think  her  poor  lover's  half-way  to  the  City  already ! 
And  as  for  papa,  who  has  just  been  chaired  member 
for  it — "  such  a  very  independent  man" — "  so  severe 
on  a  cheerful  glass" — he  has  chosen  a  son-in-law  drunk, 
and  egad,  he  shall  keep  to  him  sober.  So  this  is  the 
house — not  too  late  to  call.  No,  it  is  not  yet  nine — 
the  writer  fixes  the  evening — -the  inducement  Lucy's 
name,  and  a  benevolent  action.  She  knows  how  to 
enlist  the  heart  of  a  lover.  Whatever  our  own  faults 


so.  IH.J    OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         91 

may  be,  'tis  so  pleasant  to  couple  with  kind  thought 
or  good  deed,  the  name  of  the  woman  we  love !  By 
Venus  Urania,  no  man's  a  monster  on  that  side  his 
character.  [Knocks  and  enters. 


END  OF  ACT  III. 


92  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  LA°r  iv. 


ACT    IV. 

SCENE   I. 
The  library  in  SIB,  GEOFFREY'S  house. 

Enter  SIR  GEOFFREY,  with  a  nosegay  in  his  hand. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

No,  no!  these  pestilent  flowers  cant  come  from 
Wilmot ;  they  must  come  from  that  villain,  mine  old 
friend  and  enemy  ;  meant  as  a  jest  to  insult  me.  That 
man ! — my  blood  boils  !  I'll  find  him  out,  and  I'll 
fight  him  again ;  and  if  I'm  killed,  what's  to  become, 
then,  of  Lucy  ?  Why  not  marry  her  to  Hardman  at 
once  ?  At  her  age,  a  girl's  notions  of  love  can  not  be 
very  decided. 

Enter  HODGE. 

HODGE. 
Mr.  Hardman,  sir. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Show  him  in.  (Exit  HODGE.)  Yes,  he  is  clever ; 
but  perhaps  he  is  too  clever !  Ugh  !  I'd  better  first 
try  him.  Suppose  I  ask  him  to  tell  me  his  birth  and 
his  history ;  and  as  he  speaks  truly  or  falsely,  discard 
him  as  a  liar  or  adopt  him  as  a  son. 


sc.  i.]       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         93 
Enter  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

I  come  early.  I  tracked  the  figure  to  the  house  that 
you  spoke  of.  But  what — flowers  again !  This  inso- 
lent lord— 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

No,  no  1  the  flowers  don't  come  from  Wilmot.  I 
tell  you,  they  don't.  Hardman,  draw  near.  I've 
known  you  patient  and  brave,  laborious  and  earnest ; 
but  you  are  ambitious.  Ambition  sometimes  puzzles 
the  simple.  For  my  part,  I  think  you  really  love 
fame  and  your  country. 

HARDMAN. 

I  do.  I  love  fame,  for  her  voice  lifted  thought  into 
hope ;  I  love  my  country,  because,  though  her  customs 
be  harsh  to  the  lowly,  she  has  not  one  law  that  forbids 
the  lowly  to  rise. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Well  said !  Look  me  straight  in  the  face.  Ugh,  I 
don't  know ;  you  have  a  look  of  a  man  whom  I  loved  as 
a  boy  ; — my  own  foster-brother, — the  son  of  a  yeoman. 
I  made  him  my  equal.  He  aided  my  cousin  to  trick 
me  out  of  my  birthright,  by  false  tales  to  my  father. 
Very  nearly  succeeded.  And  in  dying  (I  pardoned 
him,  dying,)  he  had  the  effrontery  to  say  that  he  had 
never  betrayed,  if  I  had  never  suspected. 

HARDMAN  (smilinff). 
Might  not  that  have  been  true  ?, 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

You  think  so.  Well,  I'll  not  suspect  you, — at  least, 
I'll  try.  Look  me  still  in  the  face.  Can  I  trust  you  ? 
A  grave  trust,  sir, — the  happiness  of  another ! 


94:  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  iv. 

HARDMAN. 

Thus  appealed  to,  I  say  fearlessly,  trust  me ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Hem  !  I've  seen  that  you're  not  indifferent  to  Lucy. 
^3ut  before  I  approve  or  discourage,  just  tell  me  more 
^  yourself, — your  birth,  your  fortune,  past  life.  Of 
course,  you  are  the  son  of  a  gentleman  ? — He  turns 
aside.  (Aside.  He  will  lie  !) 

HARDMAN. 

Sir,  at  the  risk  of  my  hopes,  I  will  speak  the  hard 
truth.  "  The  son  of  a  gentleman  !"  I  think  not.  My 
infancy  passed  in  the  house  of  a  farmer ;  the  children 
with  whom  I  played  told  me  I  was  an  orphan.  I  was 
next  dropt,  how  I  know  not,  in  the  midst  of  that 
rough  world  called  school.  When  the  holidays  came, 
my  companions  went  home.  There  was  no  home  for 
me.  I  asked,  "  Why  ?"  and  the  master  said,  "  Why  ? 
but  because  you're  an  orphan."  Then  he  looked  at 
me  with  a  stern  sort  of  kindness.  "  You  have  talent," 
said  he,  "  but  you're  idle ;  you've  no  right  to  holidays ; 
you  must  force  your  way  through  life ;  you  are  sent 
here  by  charity." 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Charity  !     There,  the  old  fool  was  wrong ! 

HARDMAN. 

Wrong  or  right,  sir,  he  changed  my  whole  nature ; 
my  idleness  vanished — I  became  the  head  of  the 
school.  Then  I  resolved  no  longer  to  be  the  pupil  of 
— Charity.  At  the  age  of  sixteen  I  escaped,  and  took 
for  my  motto — the  words  of  the  master — "  You  must 
force  your  way  thro'  life."  Hope  and  pride  whispered 
—"You'll  force  it!" 


so.  L]       OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        95 
SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Poor  fellow  !     What  then  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Eight  years  of  wandering,  adventure,  hardship,  and 
trial,  I  often  wanted  bread — never  courage.  At  the 
end  of  those  years  I  had  risen — to  what  ?  A  desk  at 
a  lawyer's  office  in  Norfolk. 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (aside). 

My  own  lawyer  ?  where  I  first  caught  trace  of  him 
again.  He  is  true !  I  like  him  better  and  better. 

HARDMAN. 

I  was  then  four-and-twenty.  It  was  Walpole's 
native  county.  Party  spirit  ran  high  in  the  town. 
Politics  began  to  bewitch  me.  There  was  a  Speaking 
Club,  and  I  spoke.  Squires  and  yeomen  rode  from  a 
distance  to  hear  young  Hard  man  discuss  what  neither 
he  nor  themselves  understood.  My  ambition  rose 
higher — took  the  flight  of  an  author.  I  came  up  to 
London  with  ten  pounds  in  my  pocket,  and  a  work  on 
the  "  State  of  the  Nation." 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

He!  he! 

HARDMAN. 

After  fifty  refusals,  I  found  a  bookseller  to  publish 
my  treatise.  It  sold  well ;  the  publisher  brought  me 
four  hundred  pounds.  "  Vast  fortunes,"  said  he,  "  are 
made  in  the  South  Sea  Scheme.  Venture  your  hun- 
dreds,— I'll  send  you  a  broker." 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

He !  he  !     I  hope  he  was  clever,  that  broker  ? 


96  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  iv. 

HARDMAN. 

Clever  indeed :  in  a  fortnight  he  said  to  me,  "  Your 
hundreds  have  swelled  into  thousands.  For  this  money 
I  can  get  you  an  Annuity  on  land,  just  enough  for  a 
parliamentary  qualification."  The  last  hint  fired  me — 
I  bought  the  Annuity.  You  now  know  my  fortune, 
and  how  it  was  made. 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (aside). 

He !  he !  I  must  tell  this  to  Easy ;  how  he'll  en- 
joy it. 

HARDMAN. 

Not  long  after,  at  a  political  coffee-house,  a  man  took 
me  aside.  "  Sir,"  said  he,  "  you  are  Mr.  Hardman, 
who  wrote  the  famous  work  on  '  The  State  of  the  Na- 
tion.' Will  you  come  into  Parliament  ?  We  want  a 
man  like  you  for  our  borough  ;  we'll  return  you  free 
of  expense ;  not  a  shilling  of  bribery." 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

He !  he  !     Wonderful !  not  a  shilling  of  bribery  ! 

HARDMAN. 

The  man  kept  his  word,  and  I  came  into  Parliament 
— inexperienced  and  friendless — not  a  soul  there  cared 
a  straw  for  me  or — the  "  State  of  the  Nation."  I 
spoke,  and  was  laughed  at ;  spoke  again,  and  was  lis- 
tened to ;  failed  often ;  succeeded  at  last.  Here,  yes- 
terday, in  ending  my  tale  I  must  have  said,  looking 
down,  "  Can  you  give  your  child  to  a  man  of  birth 
so  doubtful ;  and  of  fortunes  so  humble  ?"  Yet  aspir- 
ing even  then  to  the  hand  of  your  heiress,  I  wrote  to 
Sir  Robert  for  a  place  just  vacated  by  a  man  of  high 
rank,  who  is  raised  to  the  Peerage.  He  refused. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Of  course.  (Aside.  I  suspect  he's  very  rash  and 
presuming.) 


sc.  L]       OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.        97 

HARDMAN. 

To-day  the  refusal  is  retracted — the  office  is  mine. 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (astonished  and  aside). 
Ha !  I  had  no  hand  in  that ! 

HARDMAN. 

I  am  now  one — if  not  of  the  highest — yet  still  one 
of  that  Government  through  which  the  Majesty  of 
England  administers  her  laws.  And,  with  front  erect, 
I  say  to  you — as  I  would  to  the  first  peer  of  the  realm 
— "  I  have  no  charts  of  broad  lands,  and  no  roll  of 
proud  fathers.  But  alone  and  unfriended,  I  have 
fought  my  way  against  Fortune.  Did  your  ancestors 
more  ?  My  country  has  trusted  the  new  man  to  her 
councils,  and  the  man  whom  she  honors  is  the  equal 
of  all." 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Brave  fellow,  your  hand.  I  look  you  again  in  the 
face, — not  to  doubt  you  this  time.  I  see  you  are  can- 
did, I  believe  you  are  good. 

HARDMAX. 

Oh,  generous  friend,  not  so  good  as  you  deem  me. 
Such  trust  makes  me  fear  lest  indeed  I  deceive  you. 
There  goes  on  here,  forever,  a  struggle  between  evil 
and  good.  Nature  made  me  combative  as  the  mastiff; 
and  the  zest  of  the  chase  trains  the  instinct  to  double 
and  wind  with  the  hound.  Place  before  me  a  foe, 
and  my  soul  leaps  to  war.  Vanish  all  thoughts,  save 
of  conflict,  stratagem,  conquest !  But  friendship,  affec- 
tion, kindness,  love — these  have  been  so  strange  since 
my  birth,  that,  finding  them  now,  I  stand  amazed  at 
myself! 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

If  this  is  not  honesty,  where  on  earth  shall  I  find 


98  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  IT. 

it?  Enough.  Win  Lucy's  consent,  and  you  have 
mine.  Hush  !  Win  it  soon,  for  she  may  soon  need  a 
protector.  You  are  combative,  are  you  ?  So  much 
the  better ;  good  English  quality  ;  no  getting  on  with- 
out it.  Hark  !  I  have  been  jeered  at,  insulted  ;  these 
flowers  are  sent  to  me  in  mockery.  I'll  fight  the  vile 
ribald.  Look  him  up.  I  make  you  my  second. 

HARDMAN. 

(Aside.  Poor  man  !  So  shrewd  when  his  humor  is 
not  on  him.  What  strange  whim  is  this  ?)  How  can 
mockery  be  meant  by  these  flowers  ? 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Ugh  !  Sixteen  years  ago,  I'd  a  wife 


HARDMAN  (insinuatingly). 

Yes? 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

With  her  head  full  of  poetry ;  a  romantic  fair  lady, 
forsooth. 

HARDMAN. 

Yes  ?  And  these  flowers  ? 


SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh  !  She  taught  me  the  language  of  flowers. 
This  posy  is  made  up,  like  those  that  I  gave  her — in- 
tended to  express  trust  in  fidelity.  I  had  a  friend, 
too ;  a  very  gay  gentleman,  who  used  to  laugh  at  my 
conjugal  gallantries ;  he  was  fond  of  a  laugh ;  and 
now  this  friend — Curse  him  ! 

HARDMAN. 

Sends  you  these  flowers  after  sixteen  years  ?  But, 
my  dear  sir,  so  pointless  a  joke 


so.  i.J       OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.         99 
SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Pointless ! — it  goes  to  the  heart. — You  are  dull !  I 
said  I'd  a  wife. 

HARDMAN. 

Well? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

And  a  friend ! 

HARDMAN. 

Well? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Well !  all  is  told.     I'd  a  friend  and  a  wife ! 

HARDMAN. 

Hum  ! — the  wife  was  romantic,  the  friend  a  gay 
gentleman  and  you  suspected 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Suspected !  I  was  in  the  room  of  a  tavern.  I  sate 
in  the  corner — heard  a  laugh,  and  my  name ;  heard 
my  friend  boast  that  my  wife  was  his  mistress,  and 
struck  the  laugh  from  his  lips  with  this  hand  !  Ugh  ! 
don't  talk  of  it !  Not  been  quite  right  here  ever  since 
— I  suspect. 

HARDMAN. 

He  boasted — but  did  she  confess  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh  !  hold  your  tongue.  Did  you  ever  hear  of  a 
woman  who  did  confess  ?  Proud  as  Lucifer — said  a 
question  was  insult — common  trick  of  the  sex.  I 
would  have  thrust  her  from  my  house — but  she  left  it 
herself.  Heaven  forgive  her — I  can  not. 

HARDMAN. 

Any  proof  to  back  this  gay  gentleman's  boast  ? 


100  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Yes,  sir,  I  had  a  proof:  a  menial  confessed  that  he 
took  a  letter  from  her  to  the  paramour — secretly ;  and 
on  the  very  day  of  the  boast. 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

Hem — the  very  day,  too ! — that  looks  bad. — And  it 
is  only  now  that  you  would  punish  this  man  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Could  not  kill  him  before,  sir.  I  tried  the  next  day, 
and  was  run  through  the  body.  Fine  gentlemen  fence 
well. 

HARDMAN. 

But  if  he  wanted  to  remind  you  of  his  own  infamy, 
why  should  he  wait  so  long  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Could  not  find  me  out,  I  suppose.  Went  abroad 
ere  my  wounds  were  yet  healed,  to  get  away  from  dis- 
grace. Did  not  come  back  till  a  kinsman  left  me  an 
estate,  on  condition  that  I  took  his  name, — for  mine 
then  was  Morland 

HARDMAN. 

Morland ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Returned — shut  myself  up  here  like  a  rat  in  a  hole. 
Thought  I  was  safe  from  all  gibe.  Not  so  !  I'm  found 
out.  (Aside.  Heavens !  and  this  man  was  my  friend 
a  year  before  Lucy  was  born !  and  I  never  yet  dared 
to  call  her  my  child  !)  No  more  words — I  will  fight 
him  again !  Take  the  challenge  at  once. 

HARDMAN. 

You  have  not  told  me  the  name. 


sc.  i.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.       101 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh !  'tis  very  well  known  ;  Lord  Henry  de  Mow- 
bray. 

HARDMAN. 

The  reprobate  brother  of  the  Duke  of  Middlesex? 
He  is  dead  !  Died  a  few  months  ago. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

He  is  dead ! — (Aside.)  Don't  believe  it ! 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

Temper  romantic — the  masked  figure  must  be  his 
wife  ! — This  does  not  look  like  guilt. — Ha  !  what  did 
Tonson  say  of  Lord  Henry's  Memoir  ? — confession 
about  Lady  Morland — in  Fallen's  hands.  I'll  go  to 
Fallen  at  once.  (Aloud.)  Forgive  my  abruptness.  I 
will  follow  up  the  new  clew  you  have  given  me.  When 
can  I  see  you  again  ? 

SIR   GEOFFREY. 

I'm  going  to  Easy's, — you'll  find  me  there  all  the 
morning.  But  don't  forget  Lucy, — we  must  save  her 
from  Wilmot. 

HARDMAN. 

Fear  Wilmot  no  more. — This  day  he  shall  abandon 
his  suit.  [Exit  HARDMAN. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

No — I  don't  believe  he  is  dead. — No  one  else  knew 
my  habits — no  one  else  could  insult  me.  Hardman 
says  it,  to  prevent  my  being  run  thro'  the  body  again. 
Easy  shall  get  at  the  truth.  Hodge  ! 

Enter  LUCY  and  HODGE. 

— Hodge,  take  your  hat  and  your  bludgeon — attend 
me  to  the  City. 


102  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

LUCY. 

Ah  !  going  out,  sir  ? — one  kiss, — do  you  trust  me 
now? 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (caressing  her). 

Trust  you !  with  all  my  heart,  though  there  is  not 
much  left  of  it.  She'll  be  happy  with  Hardman. 
You  must  never  cry  again. — Ah  !  if  she  were  my  own 
child  after  all.  [JZxeunt  SIR  GEOFFREY  and  LUCY. 


SCENE  II. 

DAVID  FALLEN'S  Garret.     [The  scene  resembling  that  of  No- 
garth's  " Distressed  Poet"] 

FALLEN  (opening  the  casement). 
So,  the  morning  air  breathes  fresh  !     One  moment's 
respite  from  drudgery.     Another  line  to  this  poem,  my 
grand  bequest  to  my  country  !     Ah  !  this  description ; 
unfinished ;  good,  good. 

"  Methinks  we  walk  in  dreams  on  fairy  land 
Where — golden  ore — lies  mixed  with "* 

Enter  PADDY. 

PADDY. 

'Plase,  sir,  the  milkwoman's  score  ! 

FALLEN. 

Stay,  stay ; — 

"Lies  mixed  with — common  sand  !" 

*  As  it  would  be  obviously  presumptuous  to  assign  to  an 
author  so  eminent  as  Mr.  David  Fallen,  any  verses  composed 
by  a  living  writer,  the  two  lines  in  the  text  are  taken  from 
Mr.  Dryden's  Indian  Emperor. 


so.  IL]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      103 

Eh  ?  Milkworaan  ?  She  must  be  paid,  or  the  children 
— I — I — (Fumbling  in  his  pocket,  and  looking  about 
the  table.)  There's  another  blanket  on  the  bed ; 
pawn  it. 

PADDY. 

Agh,  now !  don't  be  so  ungrateful  to  your  ould 
friend,  the  blanket.  When  Mr.  Tonson,  the  great 
bookshiller,  tould  me,  says  he,  "  Paddy,  I'd  giv  two 
h under  gould  guineas  for  the  papursh  Mr.  Fallen  has 
in  his  disk !" 

FALLEN. 

Go,  go !  {Knock. 

PADDY. 

Agh,  murther !  Who  can  that  be  disturbin'  the 
door  at  the  top  of  the  mornin'  ?  [Exit. 

FALLEN. 

Oh  !  that  fatal  Memoir !  My  own  labors  scarce 
keep  me  from  starving,  and  this  wretched  scrawl  of  a 
profligate  worth  what  to  me  were  Golconda !  Heaven 
sustain  me  !  I'm  tempted. 

Enter  PADDY,  and  WILMOT  disguised  as 
EDMUND  CURLL. 

PADDY. 

Stoop  your  head,  sir.  'Tis  not  a  dun,  sir  ;  'tis  Mr. 
Curll ;  says  he's  come  to  outbid  Mr.  Tonson,  sir. 

FALLEN. 

Go  quick ;  pawn  the  blanket.  Let  me  think  my 
children  are  fed.  (Exit  PADDY.)  Now,  sir,  what  do 
you  want? 

WILMOT  (taking  out  his  handkerchief  and  whimpering'). 
My  dear  good  Mr.  Fallen — no  offence — I  do  so  feel 


104:  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

for  the  distresses  of  genius.     I  am  a  bookseller,  but  I 
have  a  heart — and  I'm  come  to  buy 

FALLEN. 

Have  you  1  this  poem  ?  it  is  nearly  finished — twelve 
books — twenty  years'  labor — twenty-four  thousand 
lines  !— 10J.,  Mr.  Curll,  10J. ! 

WILMOT. 

Price  of  Paradise  Lost !  Can't  expect  such  prices 
for  poetry  now-a-days,  my  dear  Mr.  Fallen.  Nothing 
takes  that  is  not  sharp  and  spicy.  Hum  !  I  hear  you 
have  some  most  interesting  papers ;  private  Memoirs 
and  Confessions  of  a  Man  of  Quality  recently  deceased. 
Nay,  nay,  Mr.  Fallen ;  don't  shrink  back  ;  I'm  not  like 
that  shabby  dog,  Tonson.  Three  hundred  guineas  for 
the  Memoir  of  Lord  Henry  de  Mowbray ! 

FALLEN. 

Three  hundred  guineas  for  that  garbage ! — not  ten 
for  the  Poem  ! — and — the  children  !  Well  (takes  out 
the  Memoir  in  a  portfolio,  splendidly  bound,  with  the 
arms  and  supporters  of  the  Mowbrays  blazoned  on  the 
sides).  Ah  ! — but  the  honor  of  a  woman — the  secrets 
of  a  family — the 

WILMOT  (grasping  at  the  portfolio  which  FALLEN  still 

detains). 

Nothing  sells  better,  my  dear,  dear  Mr.  Fallen ! 
But  how,  how  did  you  come  by  these  treasures,  my 
excellent  friend  ? 

FALLEN. 

How  ?  Lord  Henry  gave  them  to  me  himself,  on 
his  death-bed. 

WILMOT. 
Nay ;  what  could  he  give  them  for,  but  to  publish, 


so.  ii.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER,      105 

my  sweet  Mr.  Fallen  ;  no  doubt  to  immortalize  all  the 
ladies  who  loved  him. 

FALLEN. 

No,  sir ;  profligate  as  he  was,  and  vile  as  may  be 
much  in  this  Memoir,  that  was  not  his  dying  intention, 
though  it  might  be  hig  first.  There  was  a  lady  he 
had  once  foully  injured — the  sole  woman  he  had  ever 
loved  eno'  for  remorse.  This  Memoir  contains  a  con- 
fession that  might  serve  the  name  he  himself  had 
aspersed ;  and  in  the  sudden  repentance  of  his  last 
moments,  he  bade  me  seek  the  lady,  and  place  the 
whole  in  her  hands,  to  use,  as  might  best  serve  to 
establish  her  innocence. 

AVILMOT. 

(Aside.  What !  did  even  he  have  a  good  side  to  his 
character  ?)  How  could  you  know  the  lady,  my  be- 
nevolent friend  ? 

FALLEN. 

I  did  not ;  but  she  was  supposed  to  be  abroad  with 
her  father, — a  Jacobite  exile, — and  I,  then  a  Jacobite 
agent,  had  the  best  chance  to  trace  her. 

WILMOT. 
And  you  did  ? 

FALLEN. 

But  to  hear  she  had  died  somewhere  in  France. 

WILMOT. 

Then,  of  course  you  may  now  gratify  our  intelligent 
Public,  for  your  own  personal  profit.  Clear  as  day, 
my  magnanimous  friend  ! 


I  thought  so ;  sent  for  Tonson — broke  the  seal ;  but 
when  I  came  to  read — No,  no !     Let  go,  sir. 


106  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

WILMOT. 

Three  hundred  guineas  !    I  have  'em  here  in  a  bag ! 

FALLEN. 

No,  stop ;  let  me  just  look  again !  Ha !  this  be- 
trayal of  his  brother's  most  private  correspondence — 
this — faugh !  Shame,  shame  on  you,  base  huckster 
of  conscience !  You  know  I  am  penniless, — starving ! 
you  know  I  have  tarnished  my  name, — played  fast 
and  loose  with  all  parties ;  but  this  were  worse  than 
deceit  to  placemen  and  jobbers.  These  Memoirs  would 
give  up  to  lewd  gossip  and  scoff,  whatever  is  sacred  in 
the  temple  of  home.  Begone !  I  will  not  sell  man's 
hearth  to  the  public. 

WILMOT. 

(Aside.  Noble  fellow !)  Gently,  gently,  my  too 
warm,  but  high-spirited  friend !  To  say  the  truth,  I 
don't  come  on  my  own  account.  To  whom,  my  dear 
sir,  since  the  lady  is  dead,  should  be  given  these  papers, 
if  unfit  for  a  virtuous,  but  inquisitive,  public  ?  Why, 
surely  to  Lord  Henry's  nearest  relation.  I  am  em- 
ployed by  the  rich  Duke  of  Middlesex.  Name  your 
terms. 

FALLEN. 

Ha !  ha !  Then  at  last  he  comes  crawling  to  me, 
your  proud  Duke  ?  Sir,  years  ago,  when  a  kind  word 
from  his  Grace,  a  nod  of  his  head,  a  touch  of  his  hand, 
would  have  turned  my  foes  into  flatterers,  I  had  the 
meanness  to  name  him  my  patron — inscribed  to  him  a 
work,  took  it  to  his  house,  and  waited  in  his  hall 
among  porters  and  lackeys — till,  sweeping  by  to  his 
carriage,  he  said,  "  Oh  !  you  are  the  poet  ?  take  this," 
— and  extended  his  alms,  as  if  to  a  beggar.  "  You 
look  very  thin,  sir;  stay  and  dine  with  my  people." 
People — his  servants  ! 


sc.  ii.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      107 
WILMOT. 

Calm  yourself,  my  good  Mr.  Fallen  ;  'tis  his  Grace's 
innocent  way  with  us  all. 

FALLEN. 

Go  !  Let  him  know  what  this  Household  Treason 
contains  !  Lord  Henry  was  a  cynic  and  a  wit ;  his 
brother  had  galled  and  renounced  him  ;  much  of  these 
Memoirs  are  meant  for  revenge.  They  would  make 
the  proud  Duke  the  butt  of  the  town — the  jeer  of  the 
lackeys,  who  jeered  at  my  rags ;  expose  his  frailties, 
his  follies,  his  personal  secrets.  Tell  him  this;  and 
then  say  that  my  poverty  shall  not  be  the  tool  of  his 
brother's  revenge  ;  but  my  pride  shall  not  stoop  from 
its  pedestal  to  take  money  from  him.  Now,  sir,  am  I 
right  ?  Reply,  not  as  tempter  to  pauper ;  but,  if  one 
spark  of  manhood  be  in  you,  as  man  speaks  to  man. 

WILMOT  (resuming  his  own  manner). 
I  reply,  sir,  as  man  to  man,  and  gentleman  to  gentle- 
man. I  am  Frederick,  Lord  Wilmot.  Pardon  this 
imposture.  The  Duke  is  my  father's  friend.  I  am 
here  to  obtain,  what  it  is  clear  that  he  alone  should 
possess.  Mr.  Fallen,  your  works  first  raised  me  from 
the  world  of  the  senses,  and  taught  me  to  believe  in 
such  nobleness  as  I  now  hope  for  in  you.  Give  me 
this  record  to  take  to  the  Duke — no  price,  sir ;  for 
such  things  are  priceless — and  let  me  go  hence  with 
the  sight  of  this  poverty  before  my  eyes,  and  on  my 
soul  the  grand  picture  of  the  man  who  has  spurned 
the  bribe  to  his  honor,  and  can  humble  by  a  gift  the 
great  prince  who  insulted  him  by  alms. 

FALLEN. 

Take  it — take  it !  (Gives  the  portfolio.)  I  am  saved 
from  temptation.  God  bless  you,  young  man  ! 


108  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

WILMOT. 

Now  you  indeed  make  me  twofold  your  debtor — in 
your  books,  the  rich  thought ;  in  yourself,  the  heroic 
example.  Accept  from  my  superfluities,  in  small  part 
of  such  debt,  a  yearly  sum  equal  to  that  which  your 
poverty  refused  as  a  bribe  from  Mr.  Tonson. 

FALLEN. 

My  Lord — my  Lord (Bursts  into  tears.) 

WILMOT. 

Oh,  trust  me,  the  day  shall  come,  when  men  will 
feel  that  it  is  not  charity  we  owe  to  the  ennoblers  of 
life — it  is  tribute  !  When  your  Order  shall  rise  with 
the  civilization  it  called  into  being ;  and,  amidst  an 
assembly  of  all  that  is  lofty  and  fair  in  the  chivalry  of 
birth,  it  shall  refer  its  claim  to  just  rank  among  free- 
men, to  some  Queen  whom  even  a  Milton  might  have 
sung,  and  even  a  Hampden  have  died  for. 

FALLEN. 

O  dream  of  my  youth !  My  heart  swells  and 
chokes  me ! 

Enter  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

What's  this?  Fallen  weeping? — Ah!  is  not  that 
the  tyrannical  sneak,  Edmund  Curll ! 

WILMOT  (changing  Ms  tone  to  FALLEN  into  one  of 
imperiousness). 

Can't  hear  of  the  poem,  Mr.  Fallen.  Don't  tell  me. 
Ah !  Mr.  Hardman  (concealing  the  portfolio),  your 
most  humble  !  Sir — sir — if  you  want  to  publish  some- 
thing smart  and  spicy — Secret  Anecdotes  of  Cabinets 
—Sir  Robert  Walpole's  Adventures  with  the  Ladies — 


sc.  ii.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      109 

I'll  come  down  as  handsomely  as  any  man  in  the  Row 
— smart  and  spicy 

HARDMAN. 

Offer  to  bribe  me  you  insolent  rascal  1 

WILMOT. 

Oh,  my  dear  good  Mr.  Hardman,  I've  bribed  the 
Premier  himself.  Ha  !  ha !  Servant,  sir  ;  servant. 

[Exit, 

HARDMAN. 

Loathsome  vagabond !  My  dear  Mr.  Fallen,  you 
have  the  manuscript  Memoir  of  Lord  Henry  de  Mow- 
bray.  I  know  its  great  value.  Name  your  own  price 
to  permit  me  just  to  inspect  it. 

FALLEN. 

It's  gone ;  and  to  the  hands  of  his  brother,  the 
Duke. 

HARDMAN. 

The  Duke !  This  is  a  thunderstroke !  Say,  sir : 
You  have  read  this  Memoir — does  it  contain  aught 
respecting  a  certain  Lady  Morland  I 

FALLEN. 

It  does.  It  confesses  that  Lord  Henry  slandered 
her  reputation  as  a  woman,  in  order  to  sustain  his 
own  as  a  seducer.  That  part  of  the  Memoir  was  writ 
on  his  death-bed. 

HARDMAN. 

His  boast  then 

FALLEN. 

Was  caused  by  the  scorn  of  her  letter  rejecting  his 
suit. 

HARDMAN. 

What  joy  for  Sir  Geoffrey  !     And  that  letter  ? 


110  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  iv. 


Is  one  of  the  documents  that  make  up  the  Memoir. 

HARDMAN. 

And  these  documents  are  now  in  the  hands  of  the 
Duke ! 

FALLEN. 

They  are.     For,  since  Lady  Morland  is  dead 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

Dead !  (Aside.  Yet  who  but  Lady  Morland  can 
this  mask  be  ?  I  will  go  at  once  to  the  house  and 
clear  up  that  doubt  myself.  But  the  Duke's  appoint- 
ment !  Ah,  that  must  not  be  forgotten  ;  my  rival 
must  be  removed  ere  Lucy  can  be  won.  And  what 
hold  on  the  Duke  himself  to  produce  the  Memoir,  if  I 
get  the  dispatch.)  Well,  Mr.  Fallen,  there  is  no  more 
to  be  said  as  to  the  Memoir.  Your  messenger  will 
meet  his  Grace,  as  we  settled.  I  shall  be  close  at 
hand  ;  and  mark !  the  messenger  must  give  to  me  the 
dispatch  which  is  meant  for  the  Pretender. 

FALLEN. 

To  you — but 

HARDMAN. 

But  me  no  buts,  sir.  Fail  not  to  obey  me :  your 
life  be  the  forfeit !  [Exit  HARDMAN. 


My  life  ! — He  deceived  me ;  he  wants  to  destroy, 
not  to  save,  the  conspirators.  I  will  fly  and  put  off 
the  messenger — write  meanwhile  to  caution  Lord 
Loftus — ay,  and  the  Duke  himself.  'Tis  another  re- 
venge on  him.  (  Writing.) 


so.  IL]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.       Ill 
Enter  PADDY. 

PADDY. 

'Plase,  sur,  an  IVe  paid  the  milk-score — an  there's 
five  shillings  you're  as  welcome  as  day  to.  For  I'd  an 
illigant  new  coat  o'  my  own  that  does  more  credit 
than  the  blanket  to  the  honor  of  the  house,  and  makes 
a  mighty  fine  show  at  the  pawn-shop. 


Good  friend — one  favor  more.  You  know  the  space 
by  the  wall  of  Lord  Berkely's  garden.  You  must  go 
there  presently,  and  look  about  for  a  gentleman  who 
will  be  on  the  spot  at  one  o'clock.  'Tis  the  Duke  of 
Middlesex.  You  will  know  him  by  his  saying  to  you, 
"  Marston  Moor." 

PADDY. 

Marshton  Moor  2 

FALLEN. 

When  he  says  those  words,  give  him  that  letter. 
Then  hasten  with  this  to  the  Earl  of  Loftus's  house, 
Piccadilly — if  not  at  home,  find  him  out.  First  help 
me  down  stairs,  and  call  a  coach.  Oh,  yes  !  I  can  af- 
ford it — 

"  Methinks  I  walk  in  dreams  on  fairy  land." 

I'm  to  be  rich — so  rich  !  'Tis  my  turn  now.  I've 
shared  your  pittance,  you  shall  share  my  plenty  ! — my 
children  !  mv  children  !  (  Weeps.) 

PADDY. 

Agh  now,  and  plenty  will  be  the  death  of  yees.  But 
cheer  up !  More  power  to  your  elbow,  and  ye'll  get 
through  that  unexpicted  misfortin'.  [Exeunt. 


112  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 


SCENE  III. 
The  Mall. 

Enter  SOFTHEAD,  with  his  arms  folded,  and  in  deep 
thought.     He  is  forming  a  virtuous  resolution. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Little  did  I  foresee  in  the  days  of  my  innocence, 
when  Mr.  Lillo  read  to  me  his  affecting  tragedy  of 
George  Barnwell,*  how  I  myself  was  to  be  led  on, 
step  by  step,  to  the  brink  of  deeds  without  a  name. 

Enter  EASY,  recently  dismissed  from  the  Watch-house  ; 
slovenly,  skulking,  and  crestfallen. 

EASY. 

Not  a  coach  on  the  stand !  A  pretty  pickle  I'm  in 
if  any  one  sees  me  !  A  sober,  respectable  man  like  me, 
to  wake  in  the  watch-house,  be  kept  there  till  noon 
among  thieves  and  pickpockets,  and  at  last  to  be  fined 
five  shillings  for  drunkenness  and  disorderly  conduct ; 
all  from  dining  with  a  lord  who  had  no  thoughts  of 
making  Barbara  my  lady  after  all ! — Duse  take  him  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

And  if  there  was  any  pleasure  in  it  2     Pleasure  ! 

EASY. 
Precious  thing  this  high  life  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Is  it  too  late  to  repent?     Is  notDeadman's  Lane, 

*  "We  have  only,  I  fear,  Mr.  Softhead's  authority  for  sup- 
posing George  Barnwell  to  be  then  written  :  it  was  not  acted 
till  some  vears  afterward. 


so.  m.]     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      113 

Crown  and  Portcullis,  a  warning  to  start  the  most 
obdurate  conscience? 

EASY  (discovering  SOFTHEAD). 
Softhead  ! — how  shall  I  escape  him  ? 

SOFTHEAD  (discovering  EASY). 
Easy  !    WThere  shall  I  creep  ? 

EASY. 
How  he'll  crow  over  me  ! 


SOFTHEAD. 

Yet  no !  I've  a  dim  recollection  of  what  passed,  ere 
my  sense  was  restored  by  my  horror  ;  but  I  think  he 
was  more  drunk  than  myself.  WHAT  A  FALL  !  I'll 
appear  not  to  remember.  Barbara's  father  should  not 
feel  degraded  in  the  eyes  of  a  wretch  like  myself! 
How  d'ye  do,  Mr.  Easy  ?  You're  out  early  to-day. 

EASY. 

(Aside.  Ha !  He  was  so  drunk  himself,  he  has 
forgotten  all  about  it.)  Yes,  a  headache.  You  were 
so  pleasant  at  dinner.  I  wanted  the  air  of  the  park. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Why,  you  look  rather  poorly,  Mr.  Easy ! 

EASY. 

Indeed,  I  feel  so.  A  man  in  business  can't  afford  to 
be  laid  up — so  I  thought  before  I  went  home  to  the 
City,  that  I'd  just  look  into — Ha,  ha  !  a  seasoned 
toper  like  you  will  laugh  when  I  tell  you — I  thought 
I'd  just  look  into  the — 'pothecary's ! 


114  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  iv. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Just  been  there  myself,  Mr.  Easy.  (Showing  a 
phial.) 

EASY  (regarding  it  with  mournful  disgust). 
Not  taken  physic  since  I  was  a  boy !     It  looks  very 
nasty! 

SOFTHEAD. 

'Tis  worse  than  it  looks!  And  this  is  called — 
Pleasure  !  Ah  !  Mr.  Easy,  don't  give  way  to  Fred's 
fascination  ;  you  don't  know  how  it  ends. 

EASY. 

Indeed  I  do  (Aside — it  ends  in  the  watch-house). 
And  I'm  shocked  to  think  what  will  become  of  your- 
self, if  you  are  thus  every  night  led  away  by  a  lord, 

SOFTHEAD. 

Hush!  talk  of  the  devil — look!  he's  coming  up 
the  Mall ! 

EASY. 

He  is  ?  then  I'm  off;  I  see  a  sedan-chair.  Chair  ! 
chair  !  stop !  chair !  chair !  [Exit. 

Enter  WILMOT  and  DUKE. 
DUKE  (looking  at  portfolio). 

Infamous  indeed !  His  own  base  lie  against  that 
poor  lady,  whose  husband  he  wounded.  Her  very 
letter  attached  to  it.  Ha ! — what  is  this  ? — Such 
ribaldry  on  me !  Gracious  Heavens  !  My  name  thus 
dragged  through  the  dirt,  and  by  a  son  of  my  House  ! 
Oh,  my  Lord,  how  shall  I  thank  you  ? 

WILMOT. 

Thank  not  me ;  but  the  poet,  whom  your  Grace 
left  in  the  hall. 


so.  in.]     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      115 

DUKE. 

Name  it  not — I'll  beg  his  pardon  myself!  (Aside.) 
And  the  arms  the  third  Edward  gave  to  my  ancestor 
(tears  in  his  voice)  affixed  to  this  cess-pool ! — Adieu  ; 
I  must  go  home,  and  lock  up  the  scandal  till  I've 
leisure  to  read  and  destroy  it ;  never  again  shall  it 
come  to  the  day  !  And  then,  sure  that  no  blot  shall 
be  seen  in  my  'scutcheon,  I  can  peril  my  life  without 
fear  in  the  cause  of  my  king.  [Exit  DUKE. 

WILMOT  (chanting). 

"  Gather  you  rosebuds  while  you  may, 
For  time  is  still  a-flying." 

Since  my  visit  last  night  to  Deadman's  Lane,  and 
my  hope  to  give  Lucy  such  happiness,  I  feel  as  if  I 
trod  upon  air.  Ah,  Softhead !  why,  you  stand  there, 
as  languid  and  lifeless,  as  if  you  were  capable  of — 
fishing ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

I've  been  thinking 

WILMOT. 

Thinking !  you  do  look  fatigued !  What  a  horrid 
exertion  it  must  have  been  to  you ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Ah!  Fred,  Fred,  don't  be  so  hardened.  What 
atrocity  did  you  perpetrate  last  night  ? 

WILMOT. 

Last  night  ?  Oh,  at  Deadman's  Lane :  monstrous, 
indeed.  And  this  morning,  too,  another !  Never 
had  so  many  atrocities  on  my  hands  as  within  the  last 
twenty-four  hours.  But  they  are  all  nothing  to  that 
which  I  perpetrated  yesterday,  just  before  dinner. 
Hark !  I  bribed  the  Prime  Minister ! 


116  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  iv. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Saints  in  Heaven ! 

WILMOT. 

Ha !  Ha !  Hit  him  plump  on  the  jolly  blunt  side 
of  his  character !  I  must  tell  you  about  it.  Drove 
home  from  Will's ;  put  my  Murillo  in  the  carnage, 
and  off  to  Sir  Kobert's — shown  into  his  office, — "  Ah ! 
my  Lord  Wilmot,"  says  he,  with  that  merry  roll  of 
his  eye ;  "  this  is  an  honor,  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 
— "  Sir  Kobert,"  says  I,  "  we  men  of  the  world  soon 
come  to  the  point ;  'tis  a  maxim  of  yours  that  all  have 
their  price." — "  Not  quite  that,"  says  Sir  Robert,  "  but 
let  us  suppose  that  it  is."  Another  roll  of  his  eye,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  I  shall  get  this  rogue  a  bargain !" 
— "  So,  Sir  Robert,"  quoth  1,  with  a  bow,  "  I've  come 
to  buy  the  Prime  Minister." — "  Buy  me,"  cried  Sir 
Robert,  and  he  laughed  till  I  thought  he'd  have 
choked ;  "  my  price  is  rather  high,  I'm  afraid."  Then 
I  go  to  the  door,  bid  ray  lackeys  bring  in  the  Murillo. 
"  Look  at  that,  if  you  please ;  about  the  mark  is  it 
not  ?"  Sir  Robert  runs  to  the  picture,  his  breast 
heaves,  his  eyes  sparkle:  "A  Murillo!"  cries  he, 
"  name  your  price !" — "  I  have  named  it."  Then  he 
looks  at  me  so,  and  I  look  at  him  so  ! — turn  out  the 
lackeys,  place  pen,  ink,  and  paper  before  him  ;  ic  That 
place  in  the  Treasury  just  vacant,  and  the  Murillo  is 
yours." — "For  yourself? — I  am  charmed,"  cried  Sir 
Robert.  "  No,  'tis  for  a  friend  of  your  own,  who's  in 
want  of  it." — "  Oh,  that  alters  the  case  :  I've  so  many 
friends  troubled  with  the  same  sort  of  want." — "  Yes, 
but  the  Murillo  is  genuine, — pray  what  are  the  friends  ?" 
Out  laughed  Sir  Robert.  "  There's  no  resisting  you 
and  the  Murillo  together !  There's  the  appointment, 
and  now,  since  your  Lordship  has  bought  me,  I  must 
insist  upon  buying  your  Lordship.  Fair  play  is  a 
jewel."  Then  I  take  my  grand  holyday  air ;  "  Sir 
Robert,"  said  I,  "  you've  bought  me  long  ago  !  you've 


sc.  in.]     OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      117 

given  us  peace  when  we  feared  civil  war  ;  and  a  Con- 
stitutional King  instead  of  a  despot.  And  if  that's 
not  enough  to  buy  the  vote  of  an  Englishman,  believe 
me,  Sir  Robert,  he's  not  worth  the  buying."  Then  he 
stretched  out  his  bluff  hearty  hand,  and  I  gave  it  a 
bluff  hearty  shake.  He  got  the  Murillo — Hardman 
the  place.  And  here  stand  I,  the  only  man  in  all 
England,  who  can  boast  that  he  bought  the  Prime 
Minister !  Faith,  you  may  well  call  me  hardened  :  I 
don't  feel  the  least  bit  of  remorse. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Hardman  !  you  got  Hardman  the  place  1 

WILMOT. 
I  did  not  say  Hardman 

SOFTHEAD. 

You  did  say  Hardman.  But  as  'tis  a  secret  that 
might  get  you  into  trouble,  I'll  keep  it.  Yet  Dimidum 
mece,  that's  not  behaving  much  like  a  monster  ? 

WILMOT. 

Why,  it  does  seem  betraying  the  Good  Old  Cause ; 
— but  if  there's  honor  among  thieves,  there  is  among 
monsters ;  and  Hardman  is  in  the  same  scrape  as  our- 
selves— in  love  ; — this  place  may  secure  him  the  hand 
of  the  Lady.  But  mind — he's  not  to  know  I've  been 
meddling  with  his  affairs.  Hang  it !  no  one  likes 
that.  Not  a  word  then 

SOFTHEAD. 

Not  a  word.  My  dear  Fred,  I'm  so  glad  you're 
not  so  bad  as  you  seem.  I'd  half  a  mind  to  desert 
you  ; — but  I  have  not  the  heart ;  and  I'll  stick  by  you 
as  long  as  I  live ! 


118  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

WILMOT  (aside). 

Whew!  This  will  never  do!  Poor  dear  little 
fellow !  I'm  sorry  to  lose  him  ;  but  my  word's  passed 
to  Barbara  ;  and  'tis  all  for  his  good.  As  long  as  you 
live  ?  Alas !  that  reminds  me  of  your  little  affair. 
I'm  to  be  your  second,  you  know  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Second ! — affair ! 

WILMOT. 

With  that  fierce  Colonel  Flint.  I  warned  you 
against  him ;  but  you  have  such  a  duse  of  a  spirit. 
Don't  you  remember  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

No ;  why,  what  was  it  all  about  ? 

WILMOT. 

Let  me  see — oh,  Flint  said  something  insolent  about 
Mistress  Barbara. 

SOFTHEAD. 

He  did  ?— Ruffian ! 

WILMOT. 

So — you  called  him  out !  But  if  you'll  empower 
me  in  your  name  to  retract  and  apologize 

SOFTHEAD.  , 

Not  a  bit  of  it.  Insolent  to  Barbara !  Dimidum 
mece,  I'd  fight  him  if  he  were  the  first  swordsman  in 
England. 

WILMOT. 
Why,  that's  just  what  he  is  ! 


so.  in.]    OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.       119 

SOFTHEAD. 

Don't  care  ;  I'm  his  man — though  a  dead  one. 

• 

WILMOT. 

(Aside.  Hang  it — he's  as  brave  as  myself,  on  that 
side  of  his  character.  I  must  turn  to  another.)  No, 
Softhead,  that  was  not  the  cause  of  the  quarrel — said 
it  to  rouse  you,  as  you  seemed  rather  low.  The  fact 
is  that  it  was  a  jest  on  yourself,  that  you  took  up  rather 
warmly. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Was  that  all — only  myself? 

WILMOT. 
No  larger  subject ;  and  Flint  is  such  a  good  fencer ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

My  dear  Fred ;  I  retract,  I  apologize ;  I  despise 
dueling — absurd  and  unchristianlike.  Tell  Colonel 
Flint,  I  beg  his  pardon  most  humbly.  I  shall  never 
forgive  myself  if  I  wounded  his  fine  sense  of  honor. 
The  tiger  said  he  was  touchy  ! 

WILMOT. 

Leave  all  to  me.  Dismiss  the  subject.  I'll  settle 
it ;  only,  Softhead,  you  see  our  set  has  very  stiff  rules 
on  such  matters.  And  if  you  apologize  to  a  bravo 
like  Flint ;  nay,  if  you  don't  actually,  cheerfully,  rap- 
turously fight  him — though  sure  to  be  killed — I  fear 
you  must  resign  all  ideas  of  high  life  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Dimidum  mece,  but  low  life  is  better  than  no  life 
at  all ! 

WILMOT. 

There's  no  denying  that  proposition.     It  will  console 


120  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

you  to  think  that  Mr.  Easy's  kind  side  is  Cheapside. 
And  you  may  get  upon  one,  if  you  return  to  the  other. 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  was  thinking  so,  when  you  found  me — thinking 
(hesitatingly) — But  to  leave  you 

WILMOT. 

Oh,  not  yet  ?  Retire  at  least  with  eclat.  Share 
with  me  one  grand  crowning,  last,  daring  and  des- 
perate adventure. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Deadman's  Lane,  again,  I  suppose  1  I  thank  you 
for  nothing.  Fred,  I  have  long  been  your  faithful  fol- 
lower. ( With  emotion.)  Now,  my  Lord,  Pm  your 
humble  servant.*  (Aside.  Barbara  will  comfort  me. 
She's  perhaps  at  Sir  Geoffrey's.) 

WILMOT. 

Well !  his  love  will  repay  him,  and  the  City  of 
London  will  present  me  with  her  freedom,  in  a  gold 
box,  for  restoring  her  prodigal  son  to  her  Metropolitan 
bosom.  Deadman's  Lane — that  was  an  adventure, 
indeed.  Lucy's  mother  still  living — some  mystery  she 
will  not  yet  explain — implores  me  to  get  her  the  sight 
of  her  child.  Will  Lucy  believe  me  ?  Will — (Enter 
SMART.)  Ha,  Smart  ?  Well— Well  ?— You— baffled 
Sir  Geoffrey  ? 

SMART. 

He  was  out, 

WILMOT. 

And  you  gave  the  young  lady  my  letter1  ? 

*  A  play  upon  words  plagiarized  from  Farquhar.  The 
reader  must  regret  that  the  author  had  not  the  courage  to 
plagiarize  more  from  Farquhar. 


sc.  iv.J     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      121 
SMART. 

Hist !  my  Lord,  it  so  affected  her — that — here  she 
comes.  [Exit  SMART. 

Enter  LUCY. 


Oh,  my  Lord,  is  this  true  ?  Can  it  be  ?  A  mother 
lives !  Do  you  wonder  that  I  forget  all  else  ? — that  I 
am  here — and  with  but  one  prayer,  lead  me  to  a 
mother ! 

WILMOT. 

But— - 

LUCY. 

Ah,  do  not  refuse !  Do  not  reason  with  me.  Yet 
— yet — I  am  young — inexperienced.  My  father  trusts 
me.  You  do  not  ask  the  daughter  to  wrong  the 
father's  trust — this  is  no  snare — you  do  not  deceive 
me? 

WILMOT. 

Deceive  you !  Oh  Lucy — I  have  a  sister  myself  at 
the  hearth  of  my  father. 

LUCY. 

Forgive  me — lead  on — quick,  quick — oh  mother, 
mother !  [Exeunt  LUCY  and  WILMOT. 


SCENE  IV. 

Space  at  the  back  of  Bond  Street,  now  Berkely  Square. 
Enter  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

It  is  the  wife.     She  is  innocent !     I  feel  it ;  but  no 
proof  of  innocence,  save  her  own  letter  and  her  si  an- 


122  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  iv. 

derer's  confession,  in  the  hands  of  the  Duke.  Will 
this  haughtiest  of  men  ever  yield  such  memorials, — 
even  admit  the  base  lie  of  his  brother.  Still  her  story 
has  that  which  may  touch  him.  Meanwhile  I  must 
secure  the  dispatch  to  the  Pretender ;  clear  my  path 
of  a  rival ;  and  then  gain  Lucy's  heart  by  restoring  a 
mother.  Fallen's  envoy  should  be  here  !  Who  is  this  ? 

Enter  PADDY,  the  Porter. 

PADDY. 

'Plase  your  Highness  and  Grace — is  it  the  grand 
Juke  o'  Middlesheeks  I  make  bould  to  addresh  ? 


HARDMAN. 

From  Mr.  Fallen  ?     Marston  Moor  ? 

PADDY. 

Agh !     and   that's   what   it   is  ! — Marsh  ton   Moor. 

(Gives  a  letter?)  (Aside.  His  coat's  mighty  plane  and 
\.  ,  i  r  T  1  -j  •  i  c  j  *j 

jmteel  for  a  Juke — wid  a  jewel   of  a  sword,  wid  no 

jewel  at  all.  But,  tunder  and  turf!  if  yees  could  jist 
see  the  coat  o'  Sir  Phelim  O'Donohue,  all  scarlet  an' 
gould,  putting  the  sun  out  o'  consate  of  itself  at  the 
Fair  of  Carrickashaughlan !  Oh,  King  of  Glory,  I 
must  rin  on  to  the  Yearl !)  [Exit. 

HARDMAN. 

W^hat  can  this  be  ?  Ha,  I  guess  ;  Fallen  repents — a 
letter  to  warn  the  conspirators.  By  his  leave  !  ( Opens 
the  letter  and  reads) — "  My  Lord  Duke, — I  hasten  to 
warn  you.  Give  the  packet  to  none.  Your  plot  is 
detected.  DAVID  FALLEN." 

Distraction  !  What  to  do  ?  Where  find  a  man  to 
personate  the  messenger,  and  deceive  the  Duke  ?  The 
clock  strikes — not  a  minute  to  lose  ! 


'so.  iv.]     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      123 
Enter  SOFTHEAD. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Oh  dear !  What  have  I  seen  !  Wilmot  taking 
poor  innocent  Lucy  into  that  house,  Deadman's  Lane, 
which  *  Woman  is  lost  if  she  enter,  man  is  hanged 
when  he  leave' — ran  to  Sir  Geoffrey's ;  he's  out ;  Hodge 
too.  Where  go  next  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Ah  !  he'll  do.  A  fool ! — but  the  man  he  will  meet 
is  not  wise. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Oh,  that  clever  Mr.  Hard  man  ;  Sir,  I  must  speak 
with  you. 

HARDMAN. 

Yes,  by-and-by.  But  now,  in  the  King's  name  I 
command  you  to  act  in  his  Majesty's  service.  Wrap 
this  cloak  round  you — the  Duke  of  Middlesex  comes. 
Stand  here  as  he  passes.  Say  "  Marston  Moor." 

SOFTHEAD    (rapidly    hurried    through    the   various 

phases  of  bewilderment). 
Marston  Moor ! 

HARDMAN. 

Not  a  word  else.  If  he  speak,  do  not  answer.  Lay 
your  hand  on  your  lips.  He  will  give  you  a  packet. 
You  will  transfer  it  to  me.  I  shall  wait  in  yon  angle. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Duke! — Stuff!  I  can't  and  I  won't.  I've  had 
enough  of  dukes  and 

HARDMAN. 

You  said  yourself  you  never  could  have  eno'  of  a 
Duke.  But  'tis  no  time  for  jesting.  Your  king  com- 


124  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

pels  you  to  this.  I,  who  speak,  am  a  Minister.  Ac- 
cept, and  no  danger;  refuse,  and  there's  matter  for 
hanging.  He  comes !  "  Marston  Moor,"  and  then — 
silence  !  [Retires  behind  the  wall. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Matter  for  hanging!  Why,  I'm  doomed  to  be 
hanged ! 

Enter  DUKE  of  MIDDLESEX. 

DUKE. 

That's  the  man — ahem — (Passes  SOFTHEAD,  who 
remains  silent.)  I  don't  know. 

[Passing  on  to  the  end  of  the  Stage. 

HARDMAN  (starting  forth). 

'Sdeath!  "Marston  Moor!"  Would  you  go  to 
Tyburn  for  treason  ? 

SOFTHEAD. 

Lord  !  Lord !  Why  did  I  say  I  could  never  have 
eno'  of  a  Duke  ? 

DUKE  (returning). 
Duke !  Ha !  You  spoke,  friend  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

"Marston  Moor!" 

DUKE. 

So !  Powers  above !  'tis  that  small  man  again ! 
I  thought  his  familiarity  concealed  something  mysteri- 
ous. This  explains  it.  We  have  met  before,  sir. 
(SOFTHEAD  puts  his  hand  on  his  lips.)  But  'tis  not 
because  you  risk  your  life  for  King  James,  that  you 
should  forget  what  is  due  to  John,  Duke  of  Middlesex. 
— (Aside.  He  looks  humbled.  I've  awed  him.  He'll 


sc.  iv.]     OK,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      125 

not  speak.  Ah,  true !  no  conversation  was  to  pass. 
He's  discreet.) — There's  the  packet ;  and — delay  not 
a  moment  till  it  reach  you  know  whom.  (SOFTHEAD 
as  before.)  He's  discretion  itself — I'll  walk  on  to  the 
Mall,  and  tell  that  poor  timid  Lord  Loftus  !  How  an 
Earl  can  be  timid  !  [Exit. 

SOFTHEAD   (giving   the  cloak  and   the  packet   to 

HARDMAN). 

There,  thank  Heaven,  I've  done  with  that  awful 
Duke  forever,  and  ever,  and  ever !  Now  I  must  speak 
to  you.  I've  just  seen 

HARDMAN. 

See  first  that  the  Duke  does  not  turn  back. 

SOFTHEAD  (looking  down  the  side-scene). 
Turn  back — Lord  forbid  ! 

HARDMAN  (opening  and  reading  the  Requisition). 

Ho  !  Wilmot's  in  my  power  ;  here  ends  his  rivalry  ! 
The  Duke's  life  too,  in  exchange  for  the  Memoir  ?  No, 
no !  Fear's  not  his  weak  point.  Now,  the  honor  of 
a  family,  the  happiness  of  a  home,  Lucy's  grateful  con- 
sent to  my  suit, — all  depend  on  my  chance  to  hit  the 
right  side  of  a  character — (As  he  goes  out,  flings  his 
cloak  over  SOFTHEAD'S  head .)  Keep  my  cloak,  1  shall 
be  back  in  five  minutes. 

Enter  PADDY. 

PADDY. 

Agh,  plase  your  Highness — I  would  spake  to  your 
Grace. 

HARDMAN. 

Speak  to  that  gentleman — there  in  my  cloak.  [Exit. 


126  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  iv. 

SOFTHEAD  (who  is  entangled  in  the  cloak). 
Mr.  Hard  man,  how  can  you,  sir  ?     Stay,  now  I've 
got  you  !     (Seizes  blindly  on  PADDY,  and,  throwing 
back  the  cloak,  stands  face  to  face  with  the  porter.) 
Who  the  devil  are  you  ? 

PADDY. 
'Plase,  sir,  the  Juke 

SOFTHEAD. 

Oh,  bother  the  Duke  !  have  not  I  done  with  him 
yet? 

[Tries  to  look  after  HARDMAN,  the  Porter  obstruct- 
ing him,  and  speaking  rapidly. 


Agh  !  asy  now  ;  yees  sees  I've  a  bit  of  a  letter  for 
his  honor  the  Yearl  o'  Loftus,  which  I  was  to  give  to 
the  Yearl,  myself  and  intirely.  Asy  now,  asy  !  and  it 
is  not  at  home  that  the  Yearl  is. 

SOFTHEAD. 

What's  that  to  me  ?  get  out ! 

PADDY  (unheeding  him). 

And  I  thought  I'd  ax  the  big  Juke  where  to  find 
him,  and  the  Juke  said,  says  he,  Paddy  spake  to  that 
jantleman  ;  an'  he  did,  the  Juke  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Duke  again  !  Retribution  !  Why,  why,  did  I  say, 
"  I  could  never  have  eno'  of  a  Duke."  Plague  on  it, 
man,  which  way  did  he  go  ? 

PADDY. 
Is  it  the  Juke? 


80.  iv.]     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      127 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  tell  you  I  have  done  with  the  Duke  !  No,  the 
other  ? 

PADDY. 

Sorra  another  in  life,  sure,  ixcipt  the  grand  Juke — 

SOFTHEAD  (with  an  angry  look  and  an  expostulatory 

gesture  to  heaven). 
But  it  isn't  fair, — now  I  repent ! 

PADDY. 

Agh,  murther !  and  is  it  in  the  kennel  ye'd  be  trail- 
ing the  iligant  cloak  of  the  Juke  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Take  the  cloak  !  and  be  hanged  to  you ;  Ah,  there 
he  goes 

PADDY  (running  after  him). 

Agh,  and  bad  luck  to  yees  !  Is  it  poor  Paddy  ye'd 
hang  for  staling  the  cloak  of  the  Juke  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

I'm  Duke-haunted,  I'm  haunted. 

PADDY. 

Stop,  and  the  devil  go  after  you  !  The  cloak  o'  the 
Juke.  (Exit  SOFTHEAD  by  a  violent  effort.)  The 
Juke,  the  Juke ! 


END    OF    ACT   IV. 


128  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  -  [ACT  v. 


ACT   V. 

SCENE  I. 
TJie  Mall.    Enter  DUKE  OF  MIDDLESEX. 

DUKE. 

LORD  LOFTUS  not  here  yet !  Strange  !  Certainly, 
he  is  my  friend ;  nobody  more  so,  but  that  is  no  reason 
why  he  should  forget  what  is  due  to  the  head  of  the 
Mowbrays.  Keep  me  waiting,  Powers  above !  five 
minutes  and  a  half !  I'll  go ! 

Enter  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

My  Lord  Duke — forgive  this  intrusion  ! 

DUKE. 

T'other  man  I  met  at  Lord  Wilmot's.  Sir,  your 
servant,  I'm  somewhat  in  haste. 

HARDMAN. 

Still  I  presume  to  delay  your  Grace ;  for  it  is  on  a 
question  of  honor ! 

DUKE. 

Honor !  that  goes  before  all !  Sir,  my  time  is  your 
own. 

HARDMAN. 

Your  Grace  is  the  head  of  a  house,  whose  fame  is  a 


sc.  i.]       OK,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.       129 

part  of  our  history  ;  it  is,  therefore,  that  I  speak  to  you 
boldly,  since  it  may  be  that  wrongs  were  inflicted  by 
one  of  its  members 

DUKE. 
How,  sir ! 

HARDMAN. 

Assured,  that  if  so  (and  should  it  be  still  in  your 
power,)  your  Grace  will  frankly  repair  them,  as  a  duty 
you  took  with  the  ermine  and  coronet. 

DUKE. 

You  speak  well,  sir. — (Aside.  Very  much  like  a 
gentleman !) 

HARDMAN. 

Your  Grace  had  a  brother,  Lord  Henry  de  Mowbray. 

DUKE. 
Ah !     Sir,  to  the  point. 

HARDMAN. 

At  once,  my  Lord  Duke  !  Sixteen  years  ago  a  duel 
took  place  between  Lord  Henry  and  Sir  Geoffrey  Mor- 
land — your  Grace  knows  the  cause. 

DUKE. 
Hem !  yes ;  a  lady — who — who 

HARDMAN. 

Was  banished  her  husband's  home,  and  her  infant's 
cradle,  on  account  of  suspicions  based,  my  Lord  Duke, 
on — what  your  Grace  can  not  wonder  that  the  husband 
believed — the  word  of  a  Mowbray  ! 

DUKE. 

(Aside.  Villain !)  But  what  became  of  the  hus- 
band, never  since  heard  of?  He 


130  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  v. 

HARDMAN. 

Fled  abroad  from  men's  tongues,  and  dishonor.  He 
did  not  return  to  his  native  land,  till  he  had  changed 
for  another  the  name  that  a  Mowbray  had  blighted. 
Unhappy  man !  he  lives  still. 

DUKE. 

And  the  lady — the  lady 

HARDMAN. 

Before  the  duel,  had  gone  to  the  house  of  her  father, 
who  was  forced  that  very  day  to  fly  the  country.  His 
life  was  in  danger. 

DUKE. 
How? 

HARDMAN. 

He  was  loyal  to  the  Stuarts,  and — a  Plot  was  dis- 
covered. 

DUKE. 
Brave,  noble  gentleman !     Go  on,  sir. 

HARDMAN. 

Her  other  ties  wrenched  from  her,  his  daughter 
went  with  him  into  exile — his  stay,  his  hope,  his  all. 
His  lands  were  confiscated.  She  was  high-born  :  she 
worked  for  a  father's  bread.  Conceive  yourself,  my 
Lord  Duke,  in  the  place  of  that  father — loyal  and 
penniless ;  noble  ;  proscribed ;  dependent  on  the  toils 
of  a  daughter;  and  that  daughter's  name  sullied 
by 

DUKE. 

A  word? 

HARDMAN. 

From  the  son  of  that  house  to  which  all  the  Chivalry 
of  England  looked  for  example. 


so.  i.]        OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      131 

DUKE  (aside). 

Oh,  Heaven !  can  my  glory  thus  be  turned  to  my 
shame  ?  But  they  said  she  had  died,  sir. 

HARDMAN. 

When  her  father  had  gone  to  the  grave,  she  herself 
spread  or  sanctioned  that  rumor — for  she  resolved  to 
die  to  the  world.  She  entered  a  convent,  prepared  to 
take  the  novitiate — when  she  suddenly  learned  that  a 
person  had  been  inquiring  for  her  at  Paris,  who  stated 
that  Lord  Henry  de  Mowbray  had  left  behind  him  a 

Memoir 

DUKE. 

Ah! 

HARDMAN. 

— Which  acquits  her.  She  learned,  too,  the  clew 
to  her  husband — resolved  to  come  hither — arrived  six 
days  since.  No  proof  of  her  innocence  save  those  for 
which  I  now  appeal  to  your  Grace ! 

DUKE. 

0  pride,  be  my  succor  !  (Haughtily.)  Appeal  to 
me,  sir,  and  wherefore  ? 

HARDMAN. 

The  sole  evidence  alledged  against  this  lady  are  the 
fact  of  a  letter  sent  from  herself  to  Lord  Henry,  and 
the  boast  of  a  man  now  no  more.  She  asserts  that 
that  letter  would  establish  her  innocence.  She  believes 
that,  on  his  death-bed,  your  brother  retracted  his 
boast ;  and  that  the  Memoir  he  left  will  attest  to  its 
falsehood. 

DUKE. 

Asserts — believes — go  on — go  on. 

HARDMAN. 

No,  my  Lord  Duke,  I  have  done.    I  know  that  that 


132  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  v. 

letter,  that  Memoir  exist ;  that  they  are  now  in  your 
hands.  If  her  assertion  be  false — if  they  prove  not  her 
innocence — a  word,  nay,  a  sign,  from  the  chief  of  a 
house  so  renowned  for  its  honor,  suffices.  I  take  my 
leave,  and  condemn  her.  But  if  her  story  be  true,  you 
have  heard  the  last  chance  of  a  wife  and  a  mother  to 
be  restored  to  the  husband  she  loves  and  forgives,  to 
the  child  who  has  grown  into  womanhood  remote  from 
her  care ;  and  these  blessings  I  pledged  her  my  faith 
to  obtain,  if  that  letter,  that  Memoir,  should  prove  that 
the  boast  was 

DUKE. 

A  lie,  sir,  a  lie,  a  black  lie ! — The  cow  rd's  worst 
crime — a  lie  on  the  fair  name  of  woman !  Sir,  this 
heat,  perhaps,  is  unseemly ;  thus  to  brand  my  own 
brother !  But  if  we,  the  peers  of  England,  and  the 
representatives  of  her  gentlemen,  can  hear,  can  think, 
of  vile  things  done,  whoever  the  doer,  with  calm  pulse 
and  cold  heart, — perish  our  titles  !  where  would  be  the 
use  of  a  Duke  1 


HARDMAN  (aside). 

A  very  bright  side  of  his  character. 

DUKE. 

Sir,  you  are  right.  The  Memoir  you  speak  of  is  in 
my  hands ;  and  with  it  Lady  Morland's  own  letter. 
Much  in  that  Memoir  relates  to  myself;  and  so  galls 
all  the  pride  I  am  said  to  possess,  that  not  ten  minutes 
since  methought  I  had  rather  my  Duchy  were  forfeit 
than  have  exposed  its  contents  to  the  pity  or  laugh  of 
a  stranger.  I  think  no  more  of  myself.  A  woman 
has  appealed  for  her  name  to  mine  honor  as  man. 
Now,  sir,  your  commands  ? 

HARDMAN. 

No  passage  is  needed,  save  that  which  acquits  Lady 


sc.  ij       OB,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      133 

Morland.  Let  the  Memoir  still  rest  in  your  hands. 
Condescend  but  to  bring  it  forthwith  to  my  house ; 
and  if  I  am  not  there  to  receive  you,  'tis  solely  because 
elsewhere  engaged  (pardon  the  epithet)  in  assisting 
the  proud  Duke  of  Middlesex  in  the  duties  that  justify 
pride. 

DUKE. 

Your  address,  sir ;  I  will  but  return  home  for  the 
documents,  and  proceed  at  once  to  your  house.  Hurry 
not ;  I  will  wait.  Allow  me  to  take  your  hand,  sir. 
You  know  how  to  speak  to  the  heart  of  a  gentleman. 
(Aside.  He  must  be  very  well  born.) 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

Yet  how  ignorant  we  are  of  men's  hearts  till  we  see 
them  lit  up  by  a  passion ! 

DUKE  (looking  off). 

Ha !  Here  comes  the  Earl  at  last.  Sir,  will  you 
permit  Lord  Loftus,  my  intimate  friend,  to  accompany 
me  to  your  house  ?  I  have  other  matters,  of  immediate 
importance,  on  which  to  consult  him ;  and 

HARDMAN. 

Nay,  I  shall  be  glad  to  know  that  my  Lord  Loftus 
is  with  your  Grace  ;  for  I,  too,  have  an  affair  of  great 
moment,  on  which,  somewhat  later,  I  would  speak  to 
you  both. 

DUKE. 
In  all  times  at  your  service,  sir.  [Exit  DUKE. 

HARDMAN. 

So,  all  are  shaped  to  my  purpose — the  good  or  the 
bad.  Nay,  why  is  it  bad  to  serve  my  own  happiness  ? 
Yet  this  noble  has  made  what  is  honor  so  clear  to  my 


134:  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  v. 

eyes.     Let  me  pause — let  me  think — let  me  choose  ! 
I  feel  as  if  I  stood  at  the  crisis  of  life. 

Enter  SOFTHEAD. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Got  rid  at  last  of  that  damnable  porter.  Mr.  Hard- 
man  !  you  shall  hear  me  now.  You're  a  friend  of 
Lord  Wilmot's,  of  Sir  Geoffrey's,  of  Lucy's  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Speak — quick — to  the  purpose. 

SOFTHEAD. 

On  my  way  to  Sir  Geoffrey's,  I  passed  by  a  house 
of  the  most  villainous  character.  I  dare  not  say  how 
Wilmot  himself  has  described  it  (earnestly).  Oh,  sir, 
you  know  Wilmot !  you  know  his  sentiments  on  mar- 
riage. I  saw  Wilmot  and  Lucy  Thornside  enter  that 
infamous  house ! — deeds  without  a  name ! — Deadinan's 
Lane! 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

Deadman's  Lane  !  He  takes  her  to  the  arms  of  her 
mother !  forestalls  my  own  plan,  will  reap  my  reward. 
Have  I  schemed,  then,  for  him  ?  No,  by  yon  heavens ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  ran  on  to  Sir  Geoffrey's — he  was  out ;  not  a  man 
in  the  house — women  did  not  know  where  he  was 
gone.  I  thought  of  going  to  Easy, — to  the  Justice's, 
— I  don't  know  what  I  thought  of,  I've  been  haunted, 
and  I  can't  say  whether  I  stand  on  my  head  or  my 
heels. 

HARDMAN  (who  has  been  writing  in  his  tablets,  tears 

out  a  page). 
Take  this  to  Justice  Kite's,  hard  by  :  he  will  send 


so.  ii.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      135 

two  special  officers,  placed  at  the  door,  Deadman's  Lane, 
to  wait  my  instructions.  They  must  go  instantly — arrive 
as  soon  as  myself.  Then,  hasten  to  Mr.  Easy's :  Sir 
Geoffrey  is  there.  Break  your  news  with  precaution, 
and  bring  him  straight  to  that  house.  Leave  the  rest 
to  my  care.  Away  with  you  ;  quick. 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  know  he  will  kill  me !     But  I'm  right.     And 
when  I'm  right, — Dimidum  mece.  [Exit. 

HARDMAN. 

Ho !  ho !     It  is  war !     My  choice  is  made.     I  am 
armed  at  all  points,  and  I  strike  for  the  victory.  [Exit. 


SCENE  II. 

Apartment  in  the  house,  Deadmarfs  Lane,  Crown  and  Port- 
cullis, very  old-fashioned  and  somber,  faded  tapestry  on 
the  walls,  high  mantlepiece,  with  deep  ingles  ;  furniture 
rude  and  simple  ;  general  air  of  the  room  not  mean,  but 
forlorn,  as  of  that  in  some  house,  neglected  and  little  in- 
habited, since  the  days  of  Elizabeth;  the  tapestry  drawn 
aside  at  the  back,  shows  a  door  into  an  inner  room. — 
WILMOT  seated. 

WILMOT. 

They  are  still  in  the  next  room.  It  grows  late :  I 
fear  she  will  be  missed.  But  I  have  not  the  heart  to 
disturb  them — the  first  interview  between  child  ani 
mother. 

Enter  HARDMAN. 

HARDMAN. 

Alone !     Where  is  Lucy,  my  Lord  ? 


136  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  v. 

WILMOT. 

In  the  next  room  with 

HARDMAN. 

Her  mother  ? 

WILMOT. 
What !  you  know  ? 

HARDMAN. 

I  know  that  between  us  two  there  is  strife,  and  I  am 
come  to  decide  it ;  you  love  Lucy  Thornside. 

WILMOT. 
Well !  I  told  you  so. 

HARDMAN. 

You  told  it,  my  Lord,  to  a  rival.  Ay,  smile.  You 
have  wealth,  rank,  fashion,  and  wit ;  I  have  none  of 
these,  and  I  need  them  not.  But  I  say  to  you — that 
ere  the  hand  on  which  this  dial  moves  to  that  near 
point  in  time,  your  love  will  be  hopeless  and  your  suit 
withdrawn. 

WILMOT. 

The  man's  mad !  Unless,  sir,  you  wish  me  to  be- 
lieve that  my  life  hangs  on  your  sword,  I  can  not  quite 
comprehend  why  my  love  should  go  by  your  watch. 

HARDMAN. 

I  command  you,  Lord  Wilmot,  to  change  this  tone 
of  levity ;  I  command  it  in  the  name  of  a  life  which, 
I  think,  you  prize  more  than  your  own ;  a  life  that  is 
now  in  my  hands.  You  told  me  to  sound  your  father. 
I  have  not  done  so — I  have  detected 

WILMOT. 
Detected !     Hold,  sir  !  that  word  implies  crime. 


so.  ii.]     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.       137 
HARDMAN. 

Ay,  the  crime  of  the  great.  History  calls  it  ZEAL. 
Law  styles  it  HIGH  TREASON. 

WILMOT. 

What  do  I  hear  ?  Heavens ! — my  father !  Sir, 
your  word  is  no  proof? 

HARDMAN. 

But  this  is  !  (Producing  the  Requisition  to  the 
Pretender.)  'Tis  high  treason,  conspiring  to  levy 
arms  against  the  King  on  the  throne  ;  here  called  the 
Usurper.  High  treason  to  promise  to  greet  with  ban- 
ner and  trump  a  pretender — here  called  James  the 
Third.  Such  is  the  purport  of  the  paper  I  hold — 
and  here  is  the  name  of  your  father. 

WILMOT  (aside). 
Both  are  armed,  and  alone. 

[Locks  the  outer  door  by  which  he  is  standing. 

HARDMAN  (aside). 

So,  I  guess  his  intention.  ( Opens  the  window  and 
looks  out.)  Good,  the  officers  are  come. 

WILMOT. 

What  the  law  calls  high  treason  I  know  not ;  what 
the  honest  call  treason  I  know.  Traitor  thou,  who 
hast  used  the  confidence  of  a  son  against  the  life  of  a 
father,  thou  shalt  not  quit  these  walls  with  that  life  in 
thy  grasp — yield  the  proof  thou  hast  plundered  or 
forged.  [Seizes  him. 

HARDMAN. 

S't !  the  officers  of  justice  are  below ;  loose  thine 
hold,  or  the  life  thou  demandest  falls  from  these 
hands  into  theirs ! 


138  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  v. 

WILMOT  (recoiling). 

Foiled !  Foiled  !  How  act !  what  do !  And  thy 
son  set  yon  bloodhound  on  thy  track,  0  my  father  ! 

LUCY  appears  at  the  threshold  of  the  inner  room. 

LUCY. 

Ha,  Mr.  Hardman !  what  means  this  ?  Your 
voices  raised — and — 

HARDMAN. 

I  pray  you,  leave  us — nay,  be  not  alarmed.  But 
five  minutes  more  !  we  are  devising  to  save  a  parent 
for  a  child ;  your  father  will  be  here  anon ;  entreat 
your  mother,  whatever  she  hears,  not  to  stir  till  I 
summon. 

[Hurrying  back  LUCY  within,  and  closing  the  door. 
He  unlocks  the  other  and  comes  forward. 

WILMOT. 

Sir,  you  say  you  are  my  rival ;  I  guess  the  terms 
you  now  come  to  impose ! 

HARDMAN. 

I  impose  no  terms.  But  for  your  rash  attempt  on 
this  scroll,  how  know  you  but  what  I  had  placed  it 
unasked  in  your  keeping  ? 

WILMOT. 

Without  demanding  me  to  sacrifice  the  love,  that 
you  yourself  said  was  hopeless  ? 

HARDMAN. 

What  needs  the  demand  ?  Have  you  an  option  ? 
I  think  better  of  you.  We  both  love  the  same 
woman  ;  I  have  loved  her  a  year,  you  a  week ;  you 
have  her  father's  dislike,  I  his  consent.  One  must 


so.  ii.]      OK,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      139 

yield — why  should  I  ?  Rude  son  of  the  people 
though  I  be,  why  must  I  be  thrust  from  the  sunshine 
because  you  cross  my  path  as  the  fair  and  the  high- 
born ? — What  have  I  owed  to  your  order  or  you  ? 


WILMOT. 

To  me,  sir  ?  Well,  if  to  me  you  owed  some  slight 
favor,  I  should  scorn  at  this  moment  to  speak  it. 

HARDMAN. 

I  owe  favor,  the  slightest,  to  no  man  ;  'tis  my  boast. 
Listen  still,  I  schemed  to  save  your  father,  not  to  in- 
jure. Had  you  rather  this  scroll  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  a  spy  ?  And  now,  if  I  place  it  in  yours — 
save  your  name  from  attainder,  your  fortunes  from 
confiscation,  your  father  from  the  axe  of  the  heads- 
man— why  should  I  ask  terms  ?  Would  it  be  possible 
for  you  to  say,  "  Sir,  I  thank  you  ;  and  in  return  I  will 
do  my  best  to  rob  your  life  of  the  woman  you  love, 
and  whom  I  have  just  known  a  week  ?"  Could  you, 
Peer's  son  and  gentleman,  thus  reply, — -when  if  I 
know  aught  of  this  grand  people  of  England,  not  a 
mechanic  who  walks  thro'  yon  streets,  from  the  loom 
to  the  hovel,  but  what  would  cry  "  Shame"  on  such 
answer  ? 

WILMOT. 

Sir,  your  words  are — are — This  blow  is  so  sudden, 
my  mind  is  not  clear ;  I  might  perhaps  answer,  that 
the  true  point  between  us  is  not,  whose  love  be  the 
longer  in  date,  but  whose  love  is  the  purer  from  in- 
terest— and  has  the  more  chance  of  return  ?  Nay, 
sir !  I  can  not  argue  with,  I  can  not  rival,  the  man  who 
has  my  father's  life  at  his  will,  whether  to  offer  it  as 
a  barter,  or  to  yield  it  as  a  boon.  Either  way,  rivalry 
is  henceforth  impossible. — Fear  mine  no  more  !  Give 
me  the  scroll — I  depart. 


140  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  v. 

HARDMAN. 

(Aside.  His  manliness  moves  me  !)  Nay,  let  me 
pray  your  permission  to  give  it  myself  to  your  father, 
and  with  such  words  as  will  save  him  and  others 
whose  names  are  hereto  attached,  from  such  perilous 
hazards  in  future. 

WILMOT. 

In  this  too  I  fear  that  you  leave  me  no  choice ;  I 
must  trust  as  I  may  to  your  honor ;  but  heed  well 
if 

HARDMAN. 

Menace  not ;  you  doubt,  then,  my  honor  ? 

WILMOT  (with  suppressed  passion). 
Plainly,  I  do;  our  characters  differ.  I  had  held 
myself  dishonored  forever  if  our  positions  had  been 
reversed, — if  I  had  taken  such  confidence  as  was 
placed  in  you, — concealed  the  rivalry, — prepared  the 
scheme, — timed  the  moment, — forced  the  condition  in 
the  guise  of  benefit.  No,  sir,  no,  that  may  be  talent, 
it  is  not  honor. 

HARDMAN. 

(Aside.  This  stings  !  scornful  fool  that  he  is,  not 
to  see  that  I  was  half  relenting.  And  now  I  feel  but 
the  foe  !  How  sting  again  ?  I  will  summon  him 
back  to  witness  himself  my  triumph.)  Stay,  my 
Lord !  ( Writing  at  the  table.)  You  doubt  that  I 
should  yield  up  the  document  to  your  father?  Bring 
him  hither  at  once !  He  is  now  at  my  house  with 
the  Duke  of  Middlesex ;  pray  them  both  to  come 
here,  and  give  this  note  to  the  Duke.  (  With  a  smile.) 
You  will  do  it,  my  Lord  ? 

WILMOT. 
Ay,  indeed, — and  when  my  father  is  safe  I  will  try 


sc.  ii.]      OK,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHAKACTER. 

to  think  that  I  wronged  you.  (Aside.  And  not  one 
parting  word  to — to — S'death — I'm  unmanned.  Show 
such  emotion  to  him — No,  no ! — And  if  I  can  not 
watch  over  that  gentle  life,  why  the  angels  will !)  I — 
I — go,  sir, — fulfill  the  compact ;  I  have  paid  the  price. 

[Exit 

HARDMAN. 

He  loves  her  more  than  I  thought  for.  But  she  ? 
Does  she  love  him  ?  (Goes  to  the  door.)  Mistress 
Lucy  !  [Leads  forth  LUCY. 

LUCY. 
Lord  Wilmot  gone ! 

HARDMAN. 

Nay,  speak  not  of  him.  If  ever  he  hoped  that  your 
father  could  have  overcome  a  repugnance  to  his  suit, 
he  is  now  compelled  to  resign  that  hope,  and  forever. 
(LUCY  turns  aside,  and  weeps  quietly.)  Let  us  speak 
of  your  parents — your  mother — 

LUCY. 
Oh,  yes — my  dear  mother — I  so  love  her  already. 

HARDMAN. 

You  have  heard  her  tale  !  Would  you  restore  her, 
no  blot  on  her  name,  to  the  hearth  of  your  father  ? 

LUCY. 
Speak  ! — speak ! — can  it  be  so  ? 

HARDMAN. 

If  it  cost  you  some  sacrifice  ? 

LUCY. 
Life  has  none  for  an  object  thus  holy. 


142  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  J  [ACT  v. 

HARDMAN. 

Hear,  and  decide.  Lord  Wilmot  has  all  to  charm 
the  eye  and  the  fancy ;  but  human  life  is  so  long,  and 
you  have  known  him  a  week !  Lucy,  I  have  loved 
you  in  secret  ever  since  I  first  entered  your  house. 
You  were  then  just  emerging  from  childhood.  It  is 
the  wish  of  your  father  that  I  should  ask  for  this 
hand 

LUCY. 
No !— no ! 

HARDMAN. 

Is  the  sacrifice  so  hard  1  Wait  and  hear  the  atone- 
ment. You  have  come  from  the  stolen  embrace  of  a 
mother ;  I  will  make  that  mother  the  pride  of  your 
home.  You  have  yearned  for  the  love  of  a  father  ;  I 
will  break  down  the  wall  between  yourself  and  his 
heart — I  will  dispel  all  the  clouds  that  have  darkened 
his  life. 

LUCY. 

You  will — you  will !     O  blessings  upon  you  ! 

HARDMAN. 

Those  blessings  this  hand  can  confer ! 

LUCY. 

But — but — the  heart — the  heart — that  does  not 
go  with  the  hand. 

HARDMAN. 

Later,  it  will.  I  only  pray  for  a  trial.  If,  after 
some  months,  my  suit  still  displease  you,  say  the  word, 
I  renounce  it.  I  ask  but  to  conquer  that  heart,  not  to 
break  it.  Your  father  will  soon  be  here— every  mo- 
ment I  expect  him.  He  comes  in  the  full  force  of 
suspicion — deeming  you  lured  here  by  Wilmot — fear- 
ing (pardon  the  vile  word)  your  dishonor.  How  ex- 


so.  it.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      143 

plain  ?  You  can  not  speak  of  your  mother  till  I  first 
prove  her  guiltless.  Could  they  meet  till  I  do,  words 
would  pass  that  would  make  even  union  hereafter  too 
bitter  to  her  pride  as  a  woman.  Give  me  the  power 
at  once  to  destroy  suspicion,  remove  fear,  delay  other 
explanations.  Let  me  speak — let  me  act — as  your 
betrothed,  your  accepted.  Hark !  voices  below — your 
father  comes  ! — I  have  no  time  to  plead ;  excuse  what 
is  harsh — seems  ungenerous 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (without). 

Out  of  my  way  ! — loose  my  sword ! 

LUCY. 
Oh,  save  my  mother ! — Let  him  not  see  my  mother  1 

HARDMAN. 

Grant  me  this  trial — pledge  this  hand  now — retract 
hereafter  if  you  will.  Your  mother's  name,  your  pa- 
rents' reunion  !  Ay  or  no ! — will  you  pledge  it  ? 

LUCY. 
Can  you  doubt  their  child's  answer  ?     I  pledge  it ! 

Enter  SIR  GEOFFREY,  struggling  from  EASY,  SOFT- 
HEAD, BARBARA. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Where  is  he?  where  is  this  villain  ?  let  me  get  at 
him  !  What,  what,  gone  ?  (Falling  on  HARDMAN'S 
breast.)  Oh,  Hardman  !  You  came,  you  came !  I 
dare  not  look  at  her  yet.  Is  she  saved ! 

HARDMAN. 

Your  daughter  is  innocent  in  thought  as  in  deed — I 
speak  in  the  name  of  the  rights  she  has  given  me ;  you 
permitted  me  to  ask  for  her  hand  ;  and  here,  she  has 
pledged  it ! 


144  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  v. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

O,  my  child,  my  child !  I  never  called  you  that 
name  before.  Did  I  ?  Hush !  I  know  now,  that 
thou  art  my  child ;  know  it  by  my  anguish  ;  know  it 
by  my  joy.  Who  could  wring  from  me  tears  like  these, 
but  a  child ! 

EASY. 

But  how  is  it  all,  Mr.  Hardman  ?  you  know  every 
thing !  That  fool  Softhead,  with  his  cock  and  bull 
story,  frightened  us  out  of  our  wits ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

That's  the  thanks  I  get !  How  is  it  all,  Mr.  Hard- 
man  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh,  what  so  clear?  He  came  here — he  saved 
her !  My  child  was  grateful.  Approach,  Hardman, 
near,  near.  Forgive  me,  if  your  childhood  was  lonely  ; 
forgive  me,  if  you  seemed  so  unfriended.  Your  father 
made  me  promise  that  you  should  not  know  the 
temptations  that  he  thought  had  corrupted  himself,— 
should  not  know  of  my  favors,  to  be  galled  by  what  he 
called  my  suspicions, — should  not  feel  the  yoke  of  de- 
pendence ; — should  believe  that  you  forced  your  own 
way  through  the  world — till  it  was  made.  Now  it  is 
so.  Ah,  not  in  vain  did  I  pardon  him  his  wrongs 
against  me ;  not  in  vain  fulfill  that  sad  promise  which 
gave  a  smile  to  his  lips  in  dying ;  not  in  vain  have  I 
bestowed  benefits  on  you.  You  have  saved — I  know 
it — I  feel  it ;  saved  from  infamy — my  child. 

LUCY. 

Hush,  sir,  hush  !  [Throws  herself  into  BARBARA'S 
arms. 

HARDMAN. 

My   father?      Benefits?      You   smile,    Mr.    Easy. 


so.  ii.]      OK,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      145 

What  means  he  ?     No  man  on  this  earth  ever  be- 
stowed benefits  on  me ! 

EASY. 

Ha  !  ha !  ha  !  Nay,  excuse  me ;  but  when  I  think 
that  that's  said  by  a  clever  fellow  like  you — ha  !  ha  ! 
— the  jest  is  too  good ;  as  if  any  one  ever  drove  a  coach 
through  this  world  but  what  some  other  one  built  the 
carriage,  or  harnessed  the  horses  !  Why,  who  gave 
you  the  education  that  helped  to  make  you  what  you 
are  ?  Who  slyly  paid  Tonson,  the  publisher,  to  bring 
out  the  work  that  first  raised  you  into  notice  ?  Who 
sent  you  the  broker  with  the  tale  of  the  South  Sea 
Scheme?  From  whose  purse  came  the  sum  that 
bought  your  annuity  ?  Whose  land  does  the  annuity 
burthen  1  Who  told  Fleece'em,  the  boroughmonger, 
to  offer  you  a  seat  in  Parliament  ?  Who  paid  for  the 
election  that  did  not  cost  you  a  shilling  ? — who  but 
my  suspicious,  ill-tempered,  good-hearted  friend  there  ? 
And  you  are  the  son  of  his  foster-brother,  the  man 
who  first  wronged  and  betrayed  him ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

And  this  is  the  gentleman  who  knows  every  body 
and  every  thing  ?  Did  not  even  know  his  own  father  ! 
La !  why  he's  been  quite  a  take-in !  Ha !  ha ! 

EASY. 

Ha!  ha!  ha! 

HARDMAN. 

And  all  the  while  I  thought  I  was  standing  apart 
from  others, — needing  none ;  served  by  none  ;  mas- 
tering men;  molding  them, — the  man  whom  my 
father  had  wronged  went  before  me  with  noiseless  be- 
neficence, and  opened  my  path  through  the  mountain 
I  fancied  this  right  hand  had  hewn  ! 


146  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM ;  [ACT  v. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Tut !  I  did  but  level  the  ground ;  till  you  were 
strong  eno'  to  rise  of  yourself;  /did  not  give  you  the 
post  that  you  named  with  so  manly  a  pride ;  /  did 
not  raise  you  to  the  councils  of  your  country  as  the 
"  Equal  of  All !" 

SOFTHEAD. 

No!  for  that  you'll  thank  Fred.  He  bribed  the 
prime  minister  with  his  favorite  Murillo.  He  said  you 
wanted  the  post  to  win  the  lady  you  loved.  Dimidum 
mece, — I  think  you  might  have  told  him  what  lady  it 
was. 

HARDMAN. 

So  !  Wilmot !— It  needed  but  this! 

EASY. 

Pooh,  Mr.  Softhead !  Sir  Geoffrey  would  never  con- 
sent to  a  lord.  Quite  right.  What's  a  lord,  hang 
him.  (Aside.  Lets  a  respectable  man  be  carried  off  to 
the  watch-house,  and  don't  marry  one's  daughter  after 
all.)  Practical,  steady  fellow  is  Mr.  Hard  man ;  and 
as  to  his  father,  a  disreputable  connection — quite  right 
not  to  know  him  !  All  you  want,  Geoffrey,  is  to  se- 
cure Lucy's  happiness. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

All !     That,  now,  is  his  charge. 

HARDMAN. 

I  accept  it.  But  first  I  secure  yours,  O  my  bene- 
factor !  This  house,  in  which  you  feared  to  meet  in- 
famy, is  the  home  of  sorrow  and  virtue  ;  the  home  of 
a  woman  unsullied,  but  slandered. — Of  her  who,  lov- 
ing you  still,  followed  your  footsteps ;  watched  you 
night  and  day  from  yon  windows ;  sent  you  those 
flowers,  the  tokens  of  innocence  and  youth ;  in  ro- 


sc.  ii.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      147 

mance,  it  is  true — the  romance  only  known  to  a  woman 
— the  romance  only  known  to  the  pure !  Lord  Wil- 
mot  is  guiltless !  He  led  your  child  to  the  arms  of  a 
mother ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Silence  him  ! — silence  him  ! — 'tis  a  snare !  I  retract ! 
He  shall  not  have  this  girl !  Her  house  ?  Do  I 
breathe  the  same  air  as  the  woman  so  loved  and  so 
faithless  ? 

LUCY. 

Pity  for  my  mother ! — No,  no  ;  justice  for  her ! 
Pity  for  yourself  and  for  me ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Come  away,  or  you  shall  not  be  my  child  ;  Til  dis- 
own you.  That  man  speaks 

Enter  WILMOT,  DUKE,  and  LORD  LOFTUS. 

HARDMAN. 

I  speak,  and  I  prove — (To  the  DUKE) — The  Me- 
moirs— (Glancing  over  them.)  Here  is  the  very  letter 
that  the  menial  informed  you  your  wife  sent  to  Lord 
Henry.  Read  it;  and  judge  if  such  scorn  would  not 
goad  such  a  man  to  revenge.  What  revenge  could  he 
wield  ?  Why,  a  boast ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (reading). 

The  date  of  the  very  day  that  he  boasted.  Ha ! 
brave  words !  proud  heart !  I  suspect ! — I  suspect ! 

HARDMAN. 

Lord  Henry's  Confession !  It  was  writ  on  his 
death-bed. 

LORD  LOFTUS. 

Tis  his  hand.     I  attest  it. 


148  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  v. 

DUKE. 

I  too,  John,  Duke  of  Middlesex,  whose  word  no 
man  ever  doubted ; — and  that  is  one  use  of  a  Duke  ! 
And  more,  sir ;  my  Duchess  comes  of  a  race  whose 
sons  were  all  brave,  and  whose  daughters  all  chaste. 
She  entreats  your  Lady's  friendship ;  to  hold  it  an 
honor.  Let  her  name  be  the  answer  to  scandal.  And 
that  is  one  use  of  a  Duchess. 

SIR  GEOFFREY  (who  has  been  reading  the  confession): 
Heaven  forgive  me  !     Can  she  ?     The  flowers ;  the 

figure ;  the How  blind  I've  been !  Where  is  she  ? 

where  is  she  ?    You  said  she  was  here  !    Ellin  or  !  Elli- 
nor  !  to  my  arms — to  my  heart — O  my  wife  ! 

[Exeunt  SIR  GEOFFREY  and  LUCY  into  the 
inner  room. 

DUKE. 

My  eyes  overflow.  (Perceiving  SOFTHEAD.)  Ha  ! 
Powers  above  !  Is  that  the  small  man  once  more  ? 
Has  he  betrayed  us  ?  Sir,  sir,  you  ought  to  be  half- 
way to  France ! 

SOFTHEAD  (who,  since  the  Duke's  entrance,  has  been 
trying  to  creep  into  the  earth,  now  running  to 
HARDMAN). 

France !  Am  I  to  be  banished  and  haunted  from 
my  own  native  country  ?  Mr.  Hardman,  sir !  Mr. 
Hardman ! 

HARDMAN  to    LOFTUS    and  DUKE. 

Hush !  my  Lords,  destroy  this  Requisition !  When 
you  signed  it,  you  doubtless  believed  that  the  Prince 
you  would  serve  was  of  the  Church  of  your  Protestant 
fathers  ? 

DUKE. 

Certainly  ;  we  were  assured  so. 


so.  ii.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      149 

LOFTUS. 

Or  we  never  had  signed  it. 

HARDMAN. 

Then  you  are  safe  evermore ;  for  your  honor  is 
freed.  The  Prince  has  retired  to  Kome,  and  abjured 
your  faith.  I  will  convince  you  of  this  later. 

DUKE. 

What !    then  perhaps  that  mysterious  small  man 
saved  our  lives!     Sir,  sir  !     He  flies  me  !    He  gesticu- 
lates !     A  most  supernatural  small  man  !    Portentous ! 
He  awes  me !     [DUKE  and  SOFTHEAD  continue  to  shun 
each  other  with  mutual  apprehension. 

EASY  to  WILMOT. 

Glad  to  find  you  are  not  so  bad  as  you  seemed,  my 
Lord ;  and  now  that  Lucy  is  engaged  to  Mr.  Hard- 
man 

WILMOT. 

Engaged  already  ?  (Aside.  So  !  he  asked  me  here 
to  insult  me  with  his  triumph !)  Well ! 

BARBARA. 

Hush,  papa  !  Oh,  Softhead,  how  you  wronged  that 
dear  Lord  Wilmot ;  who  meant  so  kindly  to  us  too. 
How  dejected  he  looks ! 

SOFTHEAD  (whimpering). 

Why  would  you  make  yourself  out  such  a  monster, 
Fred?  Don't  do  it  again.  It  might  take  in  wiser 
men  than  your  poor  little  Softhead. 

WILMOT. 

Never  more  such  gay  follies  for  me  !  So  this  then  is 
grief !  I  never  knew  it  before  ;  how  it  changes  a  man ! 


150  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  v. 

Enter  SIR  GEOFFREY  and  Lucy :  SIR  GEOFFREY  ra- 
diant with  joy,  his  form  erect,  his  whole  appear- 
ance changed. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

I  am  young !  I  am  young !  A  load's  taken  off 
from  my  breast.  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  {Laughing  heartily. 

SOFTHEAD. 

La !  is  that  old  Sir  Geoffrey  ?  What  a  laugh !  Joy 
— I  suppose  !  How  it  changes  a  man  ! 

HARDMAN. 

Lucy,  your  parents  are  united — my  promise  ful- 
filled; permit  me — (Takes  her  hand.)  Sir  Geoffrey, 
the  son  of  him  who  so  wronged  you,  and  whose  wrongs 
you  pardoned,  now  reminds  you,  that  he  is  intrusted 
with  the  charge  to  insure  the  happiness  of  your  child ! 
Behold  the  man  of  her  choice,  and  take  from  his  pres- 
ence your  own  cure  of  distrust.  With  his  faults  on 
the  surface,  and  with  no  fault  that  is  worse  than  that 
of  concealing  his  virtues; — Here  she  loves  and  is 
loved !  And  thus  I  discharge  the  trust,  and  insure 
the  happiness  !  [Placing  her  hand  in  WILMOT'S. 

EASY. 
How! 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Peace!  Good  Hardman,  I  can  not  gainsay  you. 
Her  mother  has  told  me  already  the  secret  of  her 
heart.  Well,  well,  take  her,  you — satrap,  and  never 
let  me  see  a  tear  in  those  eyes ;  or,  in  spite  of  Hard- 
man's  rebuke,  I  will  rack  you  to  death  with — sus- 
picion. 

[DUKE,  LORD  LOFTUS,  EASY,  BARBARA,  SOFTHEAD, 
<£c.,  gather  round  SIR  GEOFFREY. 


so.  IL]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      151 

WILMOT. 
Hardman 

HARDMAN. 


Noble  friend ! 


WILMOT. 


VV  1JUUO.\J  1» 

How  can  I  accept  at  the  price  of- 


HARDMAN. 

Hush  !  For  the  third  time  to-day,  you  have  but 
one  option.  You  can  not  affect  to  be  generous  to 
me  at  the  cost  of  a  heart  all  your  own.  Take  your 
right. 

WILMOT. 

Oh,  Hardman  !  I  trust  I  should  feel — speak  as 
you,  were  our  positions  reversed. 

HARDMAN  (smiling). 

"  Tho'  our  characters  differ" — Come,  my  Lord,  lest 
I  tell  all  the  world  how  you  bribed  the  Prime  Minis- 
ter. Say  no  more,  for  your  own  sake. 

WILMOT. 
Oh,  name  not  so  paltry  a  service. 

HARDMAN. 

Paltry !  'Tis  the  power  to  serve  a  nation ! — On 
mine  honor  as  a  man,  this  is  the  sole  happy  moment 
I  have  known  to-day — the  happiest  I  have  known 
in  my  war  with  the  world.  Here  was  the  true  strife ; 
here,  between  good  and  evil,  the  good  has  prevailed. 
My  life  henceforth,  is  clear.  Men  I  never  guessed  of, 
have  served  me :  I  will  serve  men  hereafter,  as  I  dreamed 
that  I  served  but  myself :  and,  faithful  still,  Lucy,  to 
you,  have  no  bride  but  my  country. 


152  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  v. 

WILMOT. 

Nay,  Lucy,  we  must  not  leave  him  to  that  mourn- 
ful fidelity.  I  have  a  sister,  worthy  to  replace  even 
your  image ;  and  who  is  already  so  disposed  to  ad- 
mire, that  I  think  she  may  be  pleased  to  console,  him. 

SOFTHEAD  (who  has  taken  EASY  aside). 
But,  indeed,  Mr.  Easy,  I  reform  ;  I  repent.     Mr. 
Hard  man  will  have  a  bride  in  the  country — let  me 
have  a  bride  in  the  city.     After  all,  I  was  not  such  a 
very  bad  monster. 

EASY. 

Pooh.  Won't  hear  of  it !  Want  to  marry  only 
just  to  mimic  my  Lord. 

BARBARA. 

Dear  Lord  Wilmot ;  do  say  a  good  word  for  us. 

EASY. 
No, .  sir ;  no  !     Your  head's  been  turned  by  a  lord. 

WILMOT. 

Not  the  first  man  whose  head's  been  turned  by  a 
lord,  with  the  help  of  the  Duke  of  Burgundy— eh, 
Mr.  Easy  ?  I'll  just  appeal  to  Sir  Geoffrey. 

EASY. 

No — no — hold  your  tongue,  my  Lord. 

WILMOT. 

And  you  insisted  upon  giving  your  daughter  to 
Mr.  Softhead ;  forced  her  upon  him. 

EASY. 

I — never  ! — When  ? 


sc.  ii.]      OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.      153 

WILMOT. 

Last  night,  when  you  were  chaired  member  for  the 
City  of  London.  I'll  just  explain  the  case  to  Sir 
Geoffrey — 

EASY. 

Confound  it — hold — hold  !  Never  hear  the  end 
of  it ! 

WILMOT. 

And  we  must  claim  your  promise  ;  because  as  you 
so  justly  remarked,  Mr.  Softhead  is  a  jolly  old  soul ! 
My  dear  Sir  Geoffrey,  I  say 

{EASY  (putting  hi  hands  to  WILMOT'S  lips). 
There — there — that  will  do.     But  if  ever  a   lord 
gets  me  again  into 

WILMOT. 

The  watch-house  ?  But  you  would  go,  of  yourself. 
"  Proudest  day  of  your  life."  Sir  Geoffrey 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Yes. 

EASY  (running  to  BARBARA). 
Only  another  wedding  on  foot,  Geoffrey  !     You  like 
this  young  reprobate,  Barbara  ? 

BARBARA. 

Dear  papa,  his  health  is  so  delicate !  I  should  like 
to  take  care  of  him. 

EASY. 

There,  go,  and  take  care  of  each  other.  Well,  Al- 
derman Softhead  is  a  warm  man — has  a  great  many 
votes — and  if  I  should  stand  for  the  City  ?  Ha  !  ha  ! 
I  suppose  it  is  all  for  the  best. 

[Duke,  takes  forth,  and  puts  on,  his  spectacles  :  ex- 


154:  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM  ;  [ACT  v. 

amines  SOFTHEAD  curiously — is  convinced  that 
he  is  human,  approaches,  and  offers  his  hand, 
which  SOFTHEAD,  emboldened  by  BARBARA,  the? 
not  without  misgivings,  accepts. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Ugh — ugh !  Mr.  Goodenough  Easy.  I  suspect — I 
suspect — 

EASY. 

That  you've  done  with  suspicion,  plagued  yourself 
and  all  round  you  quite  long  eno7.  A  great  deal  of  dry 
stuff,  called  philosophy,  is  written  about  life.  But  the 
grand  thing  is  to  take  it  coolly,  and  have  a  good-hu- 
mored indulgence — 

WILMOT. 
For  the  force  of  example,  Mr.  Easy ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Ha!  ha!  ha! 

WILMOT. 

For  the  follies  of  fashion,  and  the  crimes  of  mon- 
sters like  myself,  and  that  terrible  Softhead  ! 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Ha!  ha! 

WILMOT. 

For  infirmities  of  temper  ? 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh? 

WILMOT. 

When  they  are  but  as  weather-stains  on  the  oak — 
that  discolor  the  rind,  but  mar  not  the  worth  of  the 
tree 


sc.  ii.]     OR,  MANY  SIDES  TO  A  CHARACTER.       155 

DUKE. 

Good! 

WILMOT. 

For  the  pride  of  a  patrician 


DUKE. 
Eh! 

HARDMAN. 

When  it  spreads  thro'  the  heart  of  a  land, — the  ex- 
ample of  honor ! 

DUKE  (aside). 

A  perfect  gentleman,  tho'  he  may  not  have  an  an- 
cestor ! 

WILMOT. 

And  more  than  indulgence  for  the  daring  plebeian 
with  all  his  sharp  struggles  between  evil  and  good, 
when  he  fights  his  way  up  to  fortune,  and  sees  those 
before  him  as  foes.  \TaJdng  HARDMAN'S  hand. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Let  him,  like  Hardman,  love  fame  and  his  country, 
and  I  suspect  that,  like  Hardman,  he'll  be,  one  day, 
surprised  by  his  friends. 

HARDMAN. 

My  thanks  to  you  both.  But,  alas !  my  dear  Wil- 
mot,  many  sides  to  a  character ! 

WILMOT. 

Plague  on  it,  yes  !  But  get  at  them  all,  and  we're 
not  so  bad  as  we  seem — 

SOFTHEAD. 

No,  Fred,  not  quite  so  bad ! 


156  NOT  SO  BAD  AS  WE  SEEM.  [ACT  v. 

HARDMAN. 

Not  even  poor  David  Fallen,  the  Author. 

WILMOT. 

Egad,  if  the  Author  himself  were  here,  I  should  still 
hope  that  we  might  say — *  not  quite  so  bad' — taking 
us  as  we  stand — ALTOGETHER  ! 


THE  END. 


"DAVID  FALLEN  IS  DEAD!" 

OR, 

A  KEY  TO   THE  PLAY. 

(AN   AFTER   SCENE,   BY   WAY   OF   AN   EPILOGUE.) 


SCENE. 

WILMOT'S  Apartment. — WILMOT,  SIR  GEOFFREY,  SOFTHEAD, 
EASY,  and  HARDMAN,  seated  at  a  Table.    Wine,  Fruits,  &c. 

WILMOT. 

Pass  the  wine — what's  the  news  ? 


EASY. 

Funds  have  risen  to-day. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

I  suspect  it  will  rain. 

EASY. 

Well,  I've  got  in  my  hay. 

HARDMAN. 

DAVID  FALLEN  is  DEAD  ! 

OMNES. 

DAVID  FALLEN  ! 


158  DAVID  FALLEN  IS  DEAD; 

WILMOT. 

Poor  fellow ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

I  should  like  to  have  seen  him ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

/  saw  him !     So  yellow ! 

HARD  MAN. 

Your  annuity  killed  him. 

WILMOT. 
How — how  ?  to  the  point. 

HARDMAN. 

By  the  shock  on  his  nerves — at  the  sight  of  a  joint 
A  very  great  genius — 

EASY. 

I  own — now  he's  dead, 
That  a  writer  more  charming — 

WILMOT. 

Was  never  worse  fed ! 

HARDMAN. 

His  country  was  grateful — 

SOFTHEAD  (surprised). 

He  looked  very  shabby ! 

HARDMAN. 

His  bones — 

SOFTHEAD. 

You  might  count  them ! — 


OB,   A   KEY  TO   THE  PLAY.  159 

HARDMAff. 

Kepose  in  the  Abbey ! 

SOFTHEAD  (after  a  stare  of  astonishment). 
So  THAT  is  the  way  that  a  country  is  grateful ! 
'Ere  his  nerves  grew  so  weak, — if  she'd  sent  him  a 
plateful. 

EASY  (hastily  producing  a  long  paper). 
MY  TAXES  !     Your  notions  are  perfectly  hateful ! 

[PAUSE. — Evident  feeling  that  there's  no 
getting  over  Mr.  EASY'S  paper. 

WILMOT. 
Pope's  epigram  stung  him. 

HARDMAN. 

Yes,  Pope  has  a  sting. 

WILMOT. 
But  who  writes  the  epitaph  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Pope  :  a  sweet  thing ; 

WILMOT. 

'Gad,  if  I  were  an  author,  I'd  rather,  instead, 
Have  the  epitaph  living — the  epigram  dead. 
If  Pope  had  but  just  reconsidered  that  matter, 
Poor  David — 

SOFTHEAD. 

Had  gone  to  the  Abbey  much  fatter ! 

EASY. 
He  was  rather  a  scamp ! 


160  DAVID  FALLEN  IS  DEAD ; 

WILMOT. 

Put  yourself  in  his  place. 

EASY  (horror-struck). 
Heaven  forbid ! 

HARDMAN. 

Let  us  deem  him  the  Last  of  a  Race ! 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

But  the  race  that  succeeds  may  have  little  more  pelf — 

HARDMAN. 

Ay ;  and  trials  as  sharp.     I'm  an  author  myself. 
But  the  remedy?     Wherefore    should    authors    not 
build— 

EASY. 

An  alms-house? 

HARDMAN. 

No,  merchant,  their  own  noble  guild ! 
Some  fortress  for  youth  in  the  battle  for  fame  ; 
Some  shelter  that  Age  is  not  humbled  to  claim  ; 
Some  roof  from  the  storm  for  the  Pilgrim  of  Knowl- 
edge;— 

WILMOT. 

Not  unlike  what  our  ancestors  meant  by — a  College ; 
Where  teacher  and  student  alike  the  subscriber, 
Untaxing  the  Patron, — 

EASY. 

The  State,— 

HARDMAN. 

Or  the  briber,-— 


OB,    A   KEY  TO   THE   PLAY.  161 

WILMOT. 

The  son  of  proud  Learning  shall  knock  at  the  door, 
And  cry  This*  is  rich,  and  not  whine  That\  is  poor. 

HARDMAX. 

Oh  right !     For  these  men  govern  earth  from  their 

graves — 
Shall  the  dead  be  as  kings,  and  the  living  as  slaves  ! 

EASY. 

It  is  all  their  own  fault — they  so  slave  one  another ; 
Not  a  son  of  proud  Learning  but  knocks — down  his 

brother ! 

WILMOT. 

Yes !  other  vocations,  from  Thames  to  the  Border, 
Have  some  esprit  de  corps,  and  some  pride  in  their 

order ; 

Lawyers,  soldiers,  and  doctors,  if  quarrels  do  pass, 
Still  soften  their  spite  from  respect  to  their  class ; 
Why  should  authors  be  spitting  and  scratching  like 

tabbies, 
To  leave  but  dry  bones — 

SOFTHEAD. 

For  those  grateful  cold  Abbeys  \ 

HARDMAN. 

Worst  side  of  their  character ! 

WILMOT. 

True  to  the  letter. 
Are  their  sides,  then,  so  fat,  we  can't  hit  on  a  better  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Why — the  sticks  in  the  fable  ! — Our  Guild  be  the  tether, 
*  The  head.  f  The  pocket. 


162  DAVID   FALLEN   IS  DEAD; 

WILMOT. 

Ay :  the  thorns  are  rubbed  off  when  the  sticks  cling 
together. 

SOFTHEAD  (musingly). 

I  could  be — yes — I  could  be  a  Pilgrim  of  Knowledge, 
If  you'd  change  Deadman's  Lane  to  a  snug  little  Col- 
lege. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Ugh !  stuff ! — it  takes  money  a  College  to  found. 

EASY. 

I  will  head  the  subscription  myself — with  a  pound ! 

HARDMAN. 

Quite  enough  from  a  friend ;  for  we  authors  should  feel 
We  must  put  our  own  shoulders  like  men  to  the  wheel. 
Be  thrifty  when  thriving — take  heed  of  the  morrow, — 

EASY. 

And  not  get  in  debt — 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Where  the  duse  could  they  borrow  ? 

HARDMAN. 

Let  us  think  of  a  scheme. 

EASY. 

He  is  always  so  knowing. 

WILMOT. 

A  scheme !  I  have  got  one ;  the  wheel's  set  a-going ! 
A  play  from  one  author. 


OB,   A  KEY  TO   THE   PLAY.  163 

HARDMAN. 

With  authors  for  actors, — • 

WILMOT. 

And  some  benefit  nights, — • 

BOTH. 

For  the  world's  benefactors. 

SIR  GEOFFREY. 

Who'll  give  you  the  play  ?  it  will  not  be  worth  giving. 
Authors  now  are  so  bad ;  always  are  while  they're 
living ! 

EASY. 
Ah !  if  David  Fallen,  great  genius,  were  here — 

OMNES. 
Great  genius ! 

HARDMAN. 

A  man  whom  all  Time  shall  revere  ! 

SOFTHEAD  (impatiently). 
But  he's  dead. 

OMNES  (lugubriously). 
He  is  dead ! 

EASY. 

The  true  Classical  School,  sir! 
Ah !  could  he  come  back  ! 

WILMOT. 

He'll  not  be  such  a  fool,  sir. 
[Talcing  HARDMAN  aside,  whispers. 
We  know  of  an  author. 


DAVID   FALLEN   IS   DEAD; 
HARDMAN  (doubtfully.) 

Ye  —  s  —  s,  David  was  brighter. 


OMNES. 

But  he's  dead. 


HARDMAN. 

This  might  do  —  as  a  live  sort  of  writer. 

EASY. 
Alive  !  that  looks  bad. 

SOFTHEAD. 

Must  we  take  a  live  man  ? 

WILMOT. 
To  oblige  us  he'll  be,  sir,  —  as  dead  as  he  can  ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Alive  ;  and  will  write,  sir  ? 

HARDMAN. 

With  pleasure,  sir. 

SOFTHEAD. 

PLEASURE  \ 

HARDMAN. 

With  less   than   your  wit,  he  has  more  than  your 

leisure. 
Coquets  with  the  Muse  — 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Lucky  dog  to  afford  her  ! 

WILMOT. 
Can  we  get  his  good  side  ? 


OR,    A   KEY   TO   THE   PLAY.  165 

HARDMAN. 

Yes,  he's  proud  of  his  order. 

WILMOT. 
Then  he'll  do ! 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

As  for  wit — he  has  books  on  his  shelves. 

HARDMAN. 

Now  the  actors  ? 

WILMOT. 

By  Jove,  we  will  act  it  ourselves. 

[OMNES,  at  first  surprised  into  enthusiasm,  suc- 
ceeded by  great  consternation. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

Ugh,  not  I ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

Lord  ha'  mercy ! 

EASY. 

A  plain,  sober,  steady — 

WILMOT. 
I'll    appeal   to   Sir   Geoffrey-      There's   one   caught 

already  ! 
This  suspicious  old  knight ;  to  his  blind  side,  direct  us. 

HARDMAN, 

Your  part  is  to  act — 

WILMOT. 

True ;  and  his  to  suspect  us. 
I  rely  upon  you. 

HARDMAN  (looTcmg  at  his  watch). 
Me  !  I  have  not  a  minute  ! 


166  DAVID   FALLEN   IS   DEAD. 

WILMOT. 

If  the  Play  has  a  plot,  he  is  sure  to  be  in  it. 
Come,  Softhead ! 

SOFTHEAD. 

I  won't.     I'll  go  home  to  my  mother. 

WILMOT. 
Pooh !  monsters  like  us  always  help  one  another. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

I  suspect  you  will  act. 


Still  to  imitate  one — 


SOFTHEAD. 

Well,  I've  this  consolation — 

HARDMAN. 

Who  defies  imitation. 

WILMOT. 

Let  the  public  but  favor  the  plan  we  have  hit  on, 
And  we'll  chair  through  all  London, — our  Family 
Briton. 

SIR    GEOFFREY. 

What?— what?     Look  at  Easy!     He's  drunk,  or  I 
dream — 

EASY  (rising). 
The  toast  of  the  evening, — SUCCESS  TO  THE  SCHEME  ! 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIB 
j^      j1W  BERKELEY 

tf       Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowe( 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped 


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